Hero by Choice
by SkyrimJunkie
Summary: (Hero Series Book 2) Child of Akatosh. Champion of Meridia. I am Dragonborn, and I am not here by mistake. The gods have a plan for me – to fight the undead, and to save Skyrim from destruction. My name is Deborah, and I am a hero by choice. (Sequel to "Hero by Mistake". In-game plots altered. Feat. OFC Elodie, OMC Bird, OMC Torug, Stenvar, Jenassa, and Balgruuf.) Updates Sundays.
1. Fate

_Hero Series Part Two_

**HERO BY CHOICE**

___**Extended Description**__: Ulfric Stormcloak is dead, killed without explanation by an orc Dragonborn. Deborah must travel to High Hrothgar to learn about her newfound destiny and find out who the mysterious, murderous orc is. She must also, somehow, find a balance between being Dragonborn, the Champion of Meridia, and a friend, lover, and mother._

_____This is not your typical Skyrim/Dragonborn story, not in the least. Skyrim quests and plots are altered completely, new ones are added (though I would hardly call them "quests" as opposed to necessary actions), no in-game dialogue or plotlines will be played out, and the Dragonborn (well, the narrator of the story) is not even from Nirn. I hope this intrigues enough of you newcomers to check out "Hero by Mistake" and then read this sequel. If you want to skip the first Book, I believe you will understand the plot of Book Two alright, but feel free to ask me questions._

_**TL;DR**__: The following story is what happens when a modern-day non-combat-ready woman gets ripped into another reality where coffee and toilet paper do not exist but dragons and zombies do and she is driven by the gods to be a hero._

_**Disclaimer**__: All Skyrim in-game characters, themes, questline plots etc. are property of Bethesda Softworks._

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_**AN**__: Welcome back, lovely readers! Here begins the sequel to "Hero by Mistake". We're getting right back into it. If you're opening this chapter and wondering what this story is about, I strongly recommend reading Book One first._

_For those of you who have been diligent but silent readers, I'd love to hear from you. Post a comment or shoot me a PM to let me know what you thought of Book One. As always, I appreciate constructive criticism!_

_Also, I'm going to try to stick to posting shorter chapters of about 2-4k words. Operative word being "try"!_

_I will also be posting this story on a weekly schedule, so please expect a new chapter every **Sunday**, and feel free to send me angry messages if I ever forget! heh. Keep tabs on updates via following this story or following me on tumblr: Skyrim-Junkie dot Tumblr dot Com._

_Anyway, without further ado..._

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**Chapter 1 – Fate **

_One decade ago…_

"An ouroboros! Very cool. I haven't done one of these in years." My tattooist, Andy, took the printed copy of the design I'd chosen months ago to copy it onto transfer paper. "Do you really want it that big?" He held up the design to the light.

"Yep," I answered, "right between the neck and lower back ones. Need it big enough to put a design inside the circle, eventually."

"What design?"

"Two intertwined snakes, a motif from Çatalhöyük."

"From where?"

I chuckled. "A settlement from about nine thousand years ago in Turkey. Really cool civilization. Perhaps the only sedentary egalitarian civilization that ever existed."

Andy furrowed his brow, perhaps trying to decipher my nerdspeak. "Remind me… 'egalitarian' means equal, right?"

"Basically. Equal access to resources. Everyone gets a piece of the bison sort of deal. Everyone helps out."

"And they liked snakes there?"

"They liked aurochs – ancient wild cattle – worshipped them, probably. Some think they were something of a 'goddess culture'. Anyway… they used animals in most of their designs, yeah."

"So what's with all the snakes? You already have this spiral which could be a snake you said, and now this ouroboros and later the other design. You have a thing for snakes?"

"Hmm? Oh, I don't know." Andy was now prepping my back, his canvas, and I was prepping my nerves. "I've always loved snakes."

"Ever had one as a pet?"

"No. I don't like the idea of keeping an animal like that in a little tank. Plus I don't like that whole feeding process…." I squirmed at the memory of feeding frozen pinky mice to the wildlife refuge mascot, a ball python named Balthazar that had been abandoned by his previous owner. I adored that snake, but hated preparing his food.

"Snake symbolism is really interesting," Andy said. His musings always made good conversation, and also served as a pleasant distraction. "Healing, immortality, underworld…. I suppose the ouroboros could be a symbol of immortality as well as the cycle of life and death."

"See, that's why I like you, Andy. You know symbolisms."

"My art degree didn't go completely to waste." He chuckled. "Alright, fellow nerd, brace yourself…."

I closed my eyes and forced myself not to flinch when the tattoo needle touched down on my mid-back.

. . . . . .

_One year ago…_

Once I was left to my own devices at the college in Winterhold, I took it upon myself to read as much as possible. I took extensive notes from the multitude of instructional books and spell tomes, but also read other, non-magic-related books that the library housed.

On a particularly bad morning after once again dreaming of Helgen, I approached Urag gro-Shub to see if he had any books about dragons. He had exactly one. The book was locked away in what I assumed was the "special collections" area, and was kept in a wooden box.

"It's old," Urag said. "I have never seen another copy. If you damage it, I advise you to walk away and keep walking straight on out of Skyrim." The old orc next handed me a pair of thin cloth gloves. "Wear these at all times while handling the book. Sit _right here_ where I can see you." He pulled out a chair for me at a table near his desk. "You can copy whatever you like from the book. Keep your quill and ink _away_ from it, though, alright?"

I nodded.

"Alright. Have fun." Urag shot me a terse look and returned to his desk.

The brown leather cover of the book had already begun to dry and flake apart, but the embossing and imprinted designs were still visible. The borders of the cover boasted a kind of Celtic – or I supposed Nordic – knot in each corner, and the center of the cover had a curious design I couldn't decipher. At first glance the imprint, surrounded by an embossed square, looked like a decorative fountain, the sort one might see in the center of a town. There was a flat base, and above it several curved lines that resembled splashed water, with three florets in between the symmetrical design. However, on closer inspection the design on top of the base looked more like swirls of air, and what I thought were florets were actually birds. One of the birds shot straight up from the center of the base, and the other two flanked the central bird's jet-stream.

"_Wait a minute_," I mumbled to myself in English. I had seen this design before. I peered to my right at a shelf full of books, stood, and half-pulled a brown book out to examine the cover. I rolled my eyes when I saw the same exact design on the first book I looked at. I sat back down and scolded myself for over-analyzing; the books were simply made in a similar style, perhaps by the same book-maker.

_Thath era dovahn. _ "'There… Be… Dragons'?" _Seriously?_ The title of the book was the Norren version of the English phrase I knew well. I chuckled at the odd coincidence, but moved on.

_A report on the nature of dragons. _

_The last known sighting of a dragon in Tamriel was in the time of Tiber Septim. He made a pact with the few remaining dragons, swearing to protect them if they would serve him. Despite his promise, dragons were still hunted and slain. _

"_Well that's rude,_" I whispered to myself in English.

_It's not clear if the last ones fled Tamriel or if they were _kulatrint_. There is no credible story of how dragons came to be._

"'They just were, and are'." I didn't recognize many words in the book, but "unchanging" and "not born" stood out to me.

Unaza, nindalafa, _unchanging, and _singava. _They are not born or _klukt. _They do not mate or _fjelkar. _There are no known examples of dragon eggs or young dragons. _

I continued to read the passage.

_Although they are not born, dragons can die. During the Dragon War of the _Merethic_ Era, their numbers were weakened. The _Akaviri aadaken_ of the late First Era are said to have hunted and killed many of them, before and after their defeat by Emperor Reman. Some sources say the _Akaviri_ brought over dragon-killing spells._

_"Bingo…._" There were many more words I didn't understand, but I copied down the passage all the same.

Phrases like "hunted and killed" and _"_dragon-killing spells" stood out like flashing neon signs. _Yes, yes please_, I silently pleaded for explanations.

_Others claim they built _snjala_ traps. One tale even speaks of a rare poison. It is well accepted that a dragon's most fearsome weapon is its fiery breath. _

"_What? That's it!?_" My English whispering was harsh, as if the book could register my disappointment. The paragraph about killing dragons with traps, spells and poisons had ended without any further discussion. I was furious, but kept on reading and copying down the text into my journal nonetheless.

_Because they could fly overhead and rain down flaming death, archers and mages were necessary when hunting them. It is less well known that some dragons could breathe a freezing _uth_ of frost. The reports indicate that dragons might do one or the other, but not both._

_Most people think of dragons as mere beasts. However, _rokrezaar_ they must have had language in order for Tiber Septim to have negotiated with them. Indeed, the historical record is quite clear that dragons were highly intelligent. They had their own language, but could also speak the languages of men and elves._

"_Well, I'll be damned."_ The concept of an intelligent flying giant lizard pretty much scared the crap out of me, but I kept reading.

_Even without this most _medaethra_ weapon, their nearly _ugjena _hide and stone-like teeth and claws made them terrifying opponents._

"_Jeezus."_

_No dragon has been seen for centuries. There are a few known examples of dragon bones joined with the stone and rocks of cliffs and caves. Just enough proof to make the stories undeniable._

When I finished copying the contents of the book, I sat back and stared at the artifact. I didn't know what I thought I'd find – answers, maybe. Answers to questions like, how many dragons there were in the world, or what it actually meant when they resurfaced. Stenvar and I had agreed that the reappearance of dragons likely meant that the legendary Dragonborn was due to arise as well. Dragonborn, a dragonslayer with special magic and the ability to produce special shouts that could kill a dragon.

I reread passages from the book I had just copied. _Dragon-killing spells and rare poisons_. There was no indication whatsoever as to what those spells or poisons were. _Perhaps_, I thought, _these "Akaviri" people will know the answer._

I replaced the old book into its wooden case, removed my cloth gloves, and returned to Urag.

"Thank you for this book, Urag," I said as I placed the wooden box and gloves on his desk.

The orc shrugged. "It's my job. Why do you want to know about dragons, anyway?"

I bit my lip, reluctant to tell my life story to every single person I met. "I heard they have returned," I lied. "I was just curious. Now," I leaned my folded arms on his tall wooden desk, "do you have a book on people called 'Akaviri'? I am curious about their culture."

Urag turned back to me, saw that I was leaning on his desk, and looked like he was about to explode in a verbal tirade. I immediately righted my posture, and the orc calmed. "Akaviri, eh?" Urag raised a hand to his mouth, and with his thumb and forefinger gave his tusks a slow stroke. The motion unnerved me for whatever reason, though I knew I made the same movement, stroking my invisible beard, as it were, whenever I was feigning deep thought. "All we have is the one book," he said as he started off to my left. "A short thing. Perhaps one of the most common books in all of Tamriel, though." We stopped in an area of books labeled "World History". He pulled the slim book from the shelf and slid in a place-card to indicate its position before handing me the book. "Anything else?" he asked me.

"Ehh, maybe…." I bit my lip again. "Do you know if there is anyone that might know spells big enough to kill dragons? Or poisons for dragons?"

"Hurr, you're funny," was all the old orc said before walking back to his desk.

The book he had handed me was called "Mysterious Akavir", and when I skimmed to a line that read "these men were eaten long ago by snake people" I sighed in defeat.

. . . . . .

_One second ago…_

Something warm splashed into my eyes and mouth, snapping me out of my daze.

Blood. Ulfric's blood. I wanted to wipe it away but I was paralyzed, terrified as I watched the orc remove his warhammer from the mess that used to be Ulfric's head. Lengths of greying, strawberry blond hair and chunks of brain were removed from the ground, adhering to the warhammer's spiky end. I caught a glimpse of an eyeball and gagged. Yrsarald, who had been kneeling beside me, sprung forth with a growling cry, and lunged at the orc. While he was leaping mid-air, the orc shouted something and turned into a ghostly, foggy, translucent figure, and Yrsarald fell flat on his stomach. I heard him wheeze, and knew the wind had been knocked out of him. Guards loosed their arrows at the ethereal orc, but failing to hit their intangible target the arrows instead clinked against the stone ground. The orc ran fast, very fast, disappearing into the depths of the city. At Galmar's command, guards darted passed us to find and capture Jarl Ulfric's murderer.

I finally collected my bearings and scrambled over to Yrsarald, helping him out of his own stunned state. When I looked into his reddened face, I saw the rage that was building within him. He was growling, his chest was heaving, and his fists and jaw were clenching and unclenching repeatedly. He was on the verge of shifting into his beast form.

"Yrsa, Yrsa don't," I whispered. "Don't change." My hands cupped his cheeks as I forced him to look at me. A ring of gold had formed around his blue irises, and glowing yellow slivers crept inward, toward the constricted pupil. His inner bear wanted out. "Yrsa, you don't have to change. The guards will get him. They'll find him." My fingers knotted into Yrsarald's long locks as I pleaded with him to calm down. The yellow in his eyes grew brighter, and I began to fear for my life, and for the lives of anyone else nearby.

The city had gone silent, still, as if waiting for the world to explode. I heard nothing but the pounding of my own heart and Yrsarald's quiet growling.

But screams broke the silence. They came from my right, from the blacksmith's house; they came just in time to stop Yrsarald from shifting. His eyes returned to their normal blue color and he turned to look for the source of the piercing sound. I followed his gaze. A woman, Hermir, the blacksmith's assistant, had burst through the door to Oengul the blacksmith's house and around the forge to where Ulfric lay in a pool of his own blood and brains.

"_NO! _No, no… no no no…." The young, strong woman knelt by Ulfric's torso, a trembling hand hovering over his bloodied mess of hair. "Ulfric…," she cried, her voice cracking as she spoke the dead man's name.

"Hermir?" Oengul called after her, stepping out of his house. He, along with the rest of us, soon realized what was happening. I craned my neck to gaze up at Galmar, and the look on his face confirmed it. Hermir had been Ulfric's lover. Perhaps one of many, though I had still never seen him with any woman at the palace. The woman dared caress the fractured, flattened skull of the man she obviously cared for.

I then became acutely aware of my numbing appendages, and wrapped my arms around Yrsarald, my portable radiator. I grasped Yrsarald's hand and squeezed, hard. He squeezed back. We said nothing to one another; no one at the scene uttered a single word. We simply looked on in stunned silence as Hermir openly mourned the fallen Jarl.

Despite Yrsarald's warmth, I began to shiver, and stood from the cold stone ground. I turned to gaze once more at the sizable dragon skeleton that lay in moderate anatomical position in the market square. I noticed several scales, roughly the size of my face, had fallen off of the creature before its soft tissue apparently vaporized.

I didn't notice Yrsarald standing, and jumped when he wrapped his arms around me. "You're shivering," he said quietly. "Go on back to the palace," he spoke softly into my ear. "I'll be there soon."

I nodded, silently scolding myself for not grabbing my cloak and gloves before leaving Calixto's house. Arms wrapped tightly around my robed body, I walked briskly back to the palace, back to Bird and Flavia, assuming and hoping they weren't among the five dead Yrsarald had reported.

I could feel eyes upon me as I passed through the crowd of guards and citizens, but I ignored their gazes. _Don't look at me, _I silently begged of them. _Nothing to see. Nothing. _I hurried my pace, eager for the quiet solitude and warmth of the palace.

I found Bird and Flavia in their bedroom, playing. Bird's wide grin quickly shrank when I walked through his open doorway. "Blood…," he said, noticing the bits of Ulfric that still decorated me. "Are you alright?" he asked, laying Flavia in her bassinet and walking over to me. "What's this…," he examined a tress, "what's this in your hair?"


	2. Reality

_**AN**__: Yeah, so, sorry for the depressing chapter. I can't very well write an uplifting, heart-warming chapter when Deb and everyone around her is a complete emotional wreck. Hopefully there are enough "What? Woah" moments in here to counter-balance the "omgpain" moments._

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**Chapter 2 – Reality**

The bath was soothing. Scrubbing gore off of my skin and out of my hair was liberating. Once I was clean, however, I had to face reality. All realities.

Ulfric Stormcloak was dead. An orc Dragonborn had killed him. There was a Dragonborn. I, too, was Dragonborn, maybe. I kept seeing the visions replay in my mind. Me, flying through the sky, being injured by magic, my bare dragon bones in a heap in the market square.

For a brief moment, I _was _that dragon. Viinturuth, he was called. He was not an ancient dragon, not as ancient as others, anyway, but he was old. He hated humans, elves… anything not dragon. He served a black dragon named Alduin – the same black dragon that had attacked Helgen, I realized. Viinturuth wanted to hear the crunch of our bones against his teeth. I shuddered at the thought.

My mind wouldn't stop running a mental marathon. Foreign words, the dragon's words, learned from its memories that I had experienced all played through my mind. They came in sets. Images of the words and phrases flashed in my mind's eye. They were written strangely, in letters unlike the English or Norren alphabet. Oddly, they looked like cuneiform. I understood the words' meanings as I saw and heard them spoken in a dragon's voice in my head.

_Ro. Yol. Nir. Fus. Shul. Laas. Dah. Toor. Yah. _

I knew. I understood. I learned from the dragon whose soul had merged with mine, or perhaps was "eaten" by mine. The dragon's thoughts were no longer something I was privy too, however, and I figured that whatever energy he carried with him was now gone, or perhaps had been dominated by my own soul, or something like that.

_Yol Toor Shul_ was a phrase Viinturuth had spoken. Slashes, dots, triangles and lines made up the letters. The phrase meant Fire Inferno Sun. I understood that uttering these words not only caused the air to combust, it brought forth the very essence of dragons, dragonfire – the very thing that brought dragons into existence. Dragonfire could destroy dragons as well as any other enemy. I knew this. I _felt_ it.

_Laas Yah Nir _was being whispered in my mind as a near-constant undertone to the other phrases. Life Seek Hunt. Diagonal, vertical, and horizontal lines faded in and out of my mind's eye. Unable to ignore the phrase any longer, I said it aloud. The words when spoken acted similar to the life detection spell Marcurio had taught me. All beings glowed red; I saw them through walls, and even the floor. In my dragon-memory I had hunted from the sky, searching for living beings from afar; nothing hid from my sight, not even mice burrowing in the earth. After I uttered these three words, the whispers went away.

_Fus Ro Dah. _Mostly vertical lines. It had been shouted by Ulfric repeatedly in the dragon's memory, and Viinturuth had spoken the words as well. Force Balance Push. The words caused the earth to shake, and caused bodies to tremble. I wondered if I could make bodies tremble.

I closed my eyes, willing the torrent of thoughts out of my mind. The whispers came back, adding again to the noise. My brain hurt. My eyes hurt. My hair hurt. If I had to describe the way my mind felt at that moment, I would have compared it to being in the front row of a heavy metal concert: strobe lights flashing, subwoofers vibrating, dissonant chords wailing, crowd moshing. My thoughts were too bright, too loud, too frequent and insistent, and they wouldn't stop. After a while it became a constant, steady din, a scrambled mix of light and sound. My brain was electronic static on an old television set and I couldn't turn it off.

I wished myself into another reality – a reality with no dragons, no Dragonborns, no gods, and no Daedra. For the first time in a long time, I thoroughly wished to be back in my own world where magic and the supernatural were just myths. Toilet paper, chocolate, coffee; my family, my friends, and my dog Sam. But all of this meant no Yrsarald, no Stenvar, no Marcurio, Bird, Flavia, Brelyna, or Wuunferth….

I shuddered, and wrapped my arms around my body. "Ow," I muttered. My breasts had become swollen with milk. I sighed, and left my mildly comforting bath to make a visit with Flavia.

. . . . . .

"I just… I can't believe he's dead," Bird said as I nursed Flavia. "He wasn't the best person in the world, but… the _way _he was killed…."

"It was awful, Bird. Horrible. Right in front of Yrsarald and me. Just… right there. Right there…."

"How is Yrsarald doing?"

My frown lines deepened; I could feel them. "I don't know. I have not seen him since…." Flavia was finished nursing and I held her up against my chest, gently patting her back. "He nearly… lost himself when it happened. He tried to attack the orc, but he… he… I don't even know the words. The orc shouted, and became a ghost. Like a ghost. Nothing hit him. Arrows went through him. And Yrsarald… Yrsa, he… he just fell. Fell on the ground. He tried… he tried…." I hugged Flavia tightly against my shoulder. "I asked a guard before I came here, just now. They never found the orc. He vanished. Like a ghost…."

"And this orc, he's supposed to be Dragonborn?"

"That is what the guards said. They saw him, heard him shout words and kill a dragon south of the city. That is why he was angry with me, Bird. I am… I…," I started to cry. "I am like him. I felt the dragon… its… soul or… I don't know… I felt so much pain, and then there was… just bones. The dragon went into me, just like what the guards said about the orc and the first dragon. I am _this_… now… too…. Dragonborn…. Why? Why…." My voice weakened to a whisper. The static noise in my mind was still there. "I don't want this."

Bird walked over to me and picked up his daughter. He said nothing for a moment, but, after kissing Flavia's forehead, what he eventually did say hit me hard. "The gods do."

. . . . . .

I wanted to hide. I wanted to pretend none of the events of that day happened. I wanted to cuddle up with Yrsarald and cry, but he was busy with Galmar and Jorleif, no doubt wondering what to do now – if their cause was dead and the civil war was over, or if they could carry on without Ulfric Stormcloak.

So, instead, I sat with Wuunferth in his quarters as he examined the cut rock that I had pocketed from Calixto's house. Before the dragon attack, I had picked up the rock and had visions, confusing visions I couldn't make sense of. Turning the rock over and over in my hands before handing it to Wuunferth, I saw nothing.

"And you saw soldiers? Stormcloaks and Imperials?" Wuunferth asked me as he examined the cut rock. He hovered his left hand over the object, trying to sense whatever magical energies it harbored.

"Yes, in some kind of… temple, I think. There was snow outside, and a statue on top of everything. A woman, I think, with very big wings. I saw everything as… as the people there, through their eyes, just like the dragon vision…. Something called the soldiers inside the temple, and when they saw their enemy, they fought. I felt very… frightened during the visions, almost sick, like… like something evil was there."

Wuunferth gazed at me, his thumb smoothing over the various facets of the cut rock. "A winged statue… on top of a temple?" he asked.

"Yes…," I eyed him, wondering if he knew what I was talking about.

Wuunferth placed the cut rock on a table, stood, and walked over to a bookshelf. He skimmed the titles until he found what he was looking for, a red leather-bound book with gold leaf designs on the cover. He turned the pages, stopped, and then handed the book to me. "This statue?"

I took the book from Wuunferth and looked at the pages; both had sketches. The sketch on the left page was of a woman dressed in a skimpy robe, hands held out in front of her, grasping something round. The page on the right also had a sketch of a woman, again in a robe, but she had massive wings that were bigger than her body. The angelic woman's arms were raised above her head, and her hands were spaced somewhat apart from one another. In between her hands was something round with what were possibly rays of light radiating from it.

"This one," I said, pointing at the sketch on the right page. "I saw this. Who is it?"

Wuunferth advanced the page for me. The next page held some text; not much, but written clearly in large letters at the top of the page was one word: _MERIDIA_. I froze temporarily. A sketch of a sword bordered the left side of the text, and my fingers traced the inked design.

"Meridia," I said under my breath.

"Indeed," Wuunferth said, sitting back down.

I continued reading the passage about the Daedra, goddess, or whatever she truly was.

_MERIDIA_

"_A single candle can banish the darkness of the entire _Ginnil_."_

"What is 'ginnil'?" I asked Wuunferth.

"It is the emptiness from which life began."

"Oh…." I continued reading.

_The Lady of _Vosa _Energies and Light, Once of the_ Magna Ge, _Ruler of the Colored Rooms, Leader of the Dawn-bringers. Meridia hates all that _vogat_ life and the living. Her _bjothig_ day is the thirteenth of Morning Star. _

I looked to Wuunferth for some clarification. "What is 'vosa'… 'Magna Ge'… 'vogat'… and 'bjothig'?"

"Hmm," he pondered a moment. "'Vosa' means, basically, unending. 'Magna Ge' are the children of Magnus. That's what the words mean, in the old language. Sometimes called Star _Othen_. They are the stars themselves – holes in the sky, letting in the light of Aetherius."

I stared at old mage. "Stars are not holes in the sky, Wuunferth."

The old mage stared at me. "Yes, they are, Deborah. Or, at least that is how they were first created."

"Then why is the sun so much bigger than the other stars?" I crossed my arms over my chest; I knew what I was talking about, here.

"The sun is not a star," was his answer.

"Yes, it is. They are made of the same things. This planet… what is it… Nirn? It is merely closer to THIS star, your sun, than any others."

"I agree – the sun is _similar_ to the stars, but it is not a mere star. The sun is the hole in the sky left by Magnus after he created the world."

My face contorted as I tried to comprehend how a man as wise as Wuunferth could think such a thing. I held up my hands, not in defeat, but in protest. "No, no, I… no, Wuunferth." I rubbed my forehead to ease away a pending headache. "I can't talk about this now." My sigh was nothing short of weary. "What about the other words?" I looked again at the book page. "'Vogat' and 'bjothig'."

"'Vogar' is to go against something on purpose. 'Bjothar' is to… call something or someone to you."

Defy. Summon. Got it.

I closed the book and stared at nothing in particular. "She sent me visions."

"It appears as such, yes."

"Of her temple. Soldiers, killing and dying in her temple." I turned to Wuunferth. "Why?"

Wuunferth took the book from me and returned it to the bookshelf. "You are her Champion. She let you live your life for a while, and now, she is summoning you to her temple."

"To… what? I cannot fight soldiers."

"I doubt that is the reason. You said you felt something evil while experiencing the visions. My best guess is, as her Champion, Meridia wants you to destroy something evil in her temple."

I shook my head. "I cannot do that alone."

"No one said you had to go alone…."

I frowned, and looked away from my mentor. "Too much is happening, Wuunferth." I rubbed my temples, willing the constant din away. "I cannot leave here, not with Flavia still nursing, not with Ulfric dead and… and Yrsarald…." I covered my face with my hands momentarily and took in a deep breath. "Yrsarald needs me. _I _need _him_. It was too much already with just being Meridia's champion, but now I am… Dragonborn!? What do I do, Wuunferth? I wanted to return to the college, to graduate…." I looked over to the old mage and blinked the tears away. "What do I do now?"

Wuunferth let out a deep, slow sigh. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Wuunferth suggested, "Perhaps you should ask Meridia what you should do."

I stared at my feet and clutched the silver necklace that Wuunferth had given to me earlier that day.

"Magic," Wuunferth said.

"Hmm? What?"

"Magic," he pointed at the necklace around my neck. "You had asked what the necklace did. It is enchanted; it helps restore magical energies."

I looked at Wuunferth blankly for a moment before answering. "Like my mage's robe?"

He nodded. "Like your mage's robe. And this," my mentor handed back to me the cut rock that had somehow given me visions of Meridia's temple, perhaps sent by the Daedra-goddess herself, "this, I believe, is Meridia's Light, a piece of the Lady herself. It is shown in the sketches of her. I have not been to her temple in _Haafingar, _but I believe that stone is supposed to be held by her, by the statue." A small smile crept across the old mage's face. "I think the Lady of Light wanted you to find that rock, _her_ rock. Perhaps it will bring you closer to her; perhaps, you can now communicate with her outside of your dreams."

I half-smiled for a moment, but soon grimaced yet again at the unending whispers in my mind. "And what about the dragon voices? I can barely hear my own thoughts."

"Perhaps they will fade with time. You may have always been Dragonborn, ever since coming here, but you only today took in the soul of a dragon. Rest, and see. If the voices get stronger, perhaps there is a reason." Wuunferth's kind smile faded and he somewhat slumped in his chair. He slowly shook his head. "A true shame, the loss of Ulfric. Some may be rejoicing but… not me. And for you, I imagine he could have given you advice about the dragon voices, and being Dragonborn."

"Because he trained with the… Greybeards, right?"

Wuunferth nodded. "He did, for many years. He himself might have been able to help you, but…." His sentence faded with his ponderings.

After a short while of sitting in silence, I stood and collected Meridia's rock. "I am going to go rest and spend time with Bird and Flavia, I think."

"Good, good…," was all the old mage said.

. . . . . .

Yrsarald finally came to bed late into the evening. I had been attempting to write something in my journal, but I barely got passed the phrase "Ulfric died today" when the visions and whispers of dragon words returned with force to my mind, demanding my attention. Thankfully, Yrsarald served as a distraction.

"There you are," I called to my partner. He had previously changed out of his bloodied uniform and into heavy winter clothes. "How… how is everyone? How are you?" It was a stupid question, I knew this, but I asked anyway. Yrsarald looked at me without any emotion written on his face; he said nothing. He then removed his clothing methodically, slowly, and then walked over to the washbasin and rinsed the day off of his face. "Yrsa?" I called, softly, watching him. He dried his hands and sank into bed next to me, and stared at his feet. He didn't look particularly sad, though I would have expected that. Rather, he looked shocked, like he had just run over Bambi with his truck. "Yrsa…," I called to him again.

"Hm? Yeah," he finally responded. "Ulfric is… prepared. For the funeral. Galmar may go to the camps tomorrow, after…." He cleared his throat. "Or maybe the next day. I don't know. Jorleif and I… we still have some work to do, but…." His muscles tensed.

"But?"

"But, I'm tired." He exhaled slowly, leaned in to kiss my cheek, and turned on his side to go to sleep.

I wanted to talk to Yrsarald about what happened. I _needed_ to talk to him. But within moments, he was sound asleep, chuffing away. I stared at his large slumbering form, my jaw open in disbelief, tears welling in my eyes. Maybe it was selfish of me, but I needed him, and he had immediately cut off any possibility of any real conversation. My heart began to hurt as much as my head.

A knock then sounded on our bedroom door. It was Bird; Flavia was hungry. I settled down next to my friend in his bed with the baby at my breast.

Bird had tried to go back to sleep, but failed. "Do you think he's alright?" he whispered, shadows under his eyes highlighting his worry. Bird had done his best to stay positive, but reality had crept up on him.

"Marc is with Stormcloaks. He will be fine."

"But what if he isn't fine?" Bird leaned forward and hugged his knees. His angelic white-blond hair flowed over his shoulders. Flavia gurgled, signaling that she was full. Bird picked up his daughter and held her against his shoulder, his hand cupping her head as if it was a delicate flower. He pressed his tear-streaked cheek against the baby girl's forehead.

I realized then that Bird considered Flavia a part of Marcurio as much as a part of himself or me, her biological parents. I bit my tongue in order to stop crying.

After an awkward silence, I changed the subject, partially for Bird's sake and partially for my own. "Something is wrong with Yrsarald."

"Wrong?"

"I did not seen him all day… since Ulfric died. Since I…." I hugged my body. "I want to talk to him, hold him…. But he just went to sleep. He barely even looked at me."

"He's upset, Deb," Bird said. "His closest friend is dead, and… and _you_, well…." He frowned as he looked at me. "You're Dragonborn."

"I'm just me."

"Yes, you're you. You will always be you. But…." Bird stood from the bed, laid Flavia down in her bassinet, and sat again next to me. "Listen. I married Marc knowing exactly who and what I married: a mage who may have to… get into a few rough situations sometimes. I understood that. Now, Marc… he's an apprentice Court Mage, healing soldiers…. If he had ended up Dragonborn, too…." He leaned back against his pillow with a sigh. "Well, even as Court Mage, he'd still be here, sleeping in his own bed at night, but Dragonborn…." He turned to look at me. "He wouldn't be here. He wouldn't be _mine_."

My heart sank into my stomach. "Not yours? What do you mean?"

"The Dragonborn… belongs to everyone. To Skyrim. To Tamriel. They hunt and kill dragons, fight evil, win wars…. They are legends for a reason."

My frown deepened. "Like Talos…."

"Yes."

I sank back into Marcurio's pillow and snuggled up next to Bird. "Yrsarald wanted the white fence."

"What?"

_White picket fence. _I was already starting to cry. I entwined my fingers with Bird's. "He wanted a normal life. In my world, we say, 'a white fence' to mean a normal life. House, a fence around it, marriage, children…." A tear escaped and I wiped it away. "We both knew not everything would be _normal_…. There is a war, and he is… was Ulfric's advisor…. I am to be a soldier for Meridia…." I took a deep breath. "I think… both Yrsarald and I thought… thought that we would be at least a _little _normal. Maybe even have children. Marry…." My tears rolled onto Bird's shoulder. "Being… Dragonborn…. This means… not normal. Is… is he angry with me?"

"Not you, Deb, no. The gods, however…. I imagine he may be quite angry with the gods right now."

After a while of crying freely on my friend's shoulder, I sat up and dried my face. "I should go…. Even asleep, I can hold him…." I sniffled and wiped my nose. I turned to Bird and gave him a knowing look. "Don't worry, Bird. Marc will be back soon."

Bird put on a brave face, and nodded.

. . . . . .

I barely slept that night. The voices and images in my mind were too loud and too bright. I instead held the sleeping Yrsarald from behind – I was the "big spoon" for once – offering silent moral support. His warmth was one of the strongest comforts I had ever known, even without his arms around me. If I couldn't sleep, I was glad to at least have him to hold. I dozed off a few times only to be woken by the dissonant voices inside my head, but eventually with the help of some tea I was able to get _some_ sleep.

When I woke up the next morning, Yrsarald was already gone. I voiced a small, whining sigh. I threw on my heavy, warm dressing gown, stepped into my buckskin slippers, and went to go see if Flavia was awake and hungry. She was.

After talking to Bird a bit more about my lack of conversing with Yrsarald, my friend reminded me that my birthday, my thirty-first, was only two-and-a-half weeks away. I had completely forgotten about it. I made a mental note, yet again, to make myself some sort of portable calendar to keep track of the dates instead of bugging Yrsarald, Wuunferth, or Jorleif all the time to look at theirs.

I felt very heavy that morning. Walking back to my room after Flavia's feeding, my slippers felt as if they were made of lead. I lumbered my way around my room, washing up and getting dressed, mind still stuck on the recycled thoughts of dragons, dragon words, and ponderings of what must be going through the minds of the Stormcloaks.

I cared little of what I looked like. I threw on my college robe, the unenchanted one that hadn't been painted with Ulfric's blood, slid on my fur boots, and tied up my hair in a messy sort-of-bun-thing. It was a difficult procedure to perfect without the use of elastic hairbands, but I eventually got the hang of it using a thin leather strip.

As I fiddled with said leather strip, I heard a _clack_ behind me. Hands still above my head, finishing the tying of my hair, I turned to see nothing unusual. I finished my ambivalent hairdo and turned from the full-length mirror that Yrsarald had purchased a while ago for me – apparently I asked him too often how I looked and he thought he was doing me a favor by buying the thing; ironically, I noticed after a while that he used the mirror much more often than I did.

I was about to leave the room when I noticed Yrsarald's journal was on the floor, just in front of his night table. Soon after moving in with him, I had learned that he kept a dream journal – "Because my dreams are so realistic, I feel like I need to," he had said. The journal was open to a circular sketch and a description. I thought nothing of it, picked it up, and put it back on his night table. And then I realized – the sketch the journal fell open to looked familiar. I sat on the bed and opened the journal, searching for the page I had seen. It was the most recent entry. When I found it, my jaw dropped. The sketch was a circle comprising various designs, accented by little lines that perhaps indicated that the circle was glowing. Under the sketch and on the next page, Yrsarald had written:

_Dark. Dead, headless draugr everywhere. Silent, except for a _nynnig_ coming from the circle. Something is missing, but I don't know what. Someone is here with me, but the figure is too bright to see, and doesn't speak words, but I hear things in my head. For some reason I know it's Ulfric. I don't know why I think this. I can't see his face or hear his voice, but it's Ulfric. He's sad and angry, and telling me to do something, but without words. I don't know what he wants. All I know is that there is something missing from this dark room and that _nynnig_ is giving me a headache. I have no idea what or where this room is._

_The dream felt quick, and I woke up as Ulfric was shouting something at me, within my mind. I wish I knew what he said. I am sorry, brother._

I closed the journal and placed it again on his night table. I stared a while at the plain leather cover. The static inside my head then dimmed only to be replaced by a familiar humming.

"Saarthal," I whispered.


	3. Shades of Grey

_**AN**__: Once again, a bit of a sad chapter. It's only natural when there's a funeral to be held. And, no, there won't be all that many flashbacks in this story; these ones just fit well into what's going on in Deb's mind. (Or, do you like the flashbacks? I could always throw more in, here and there.) Oh, and, yeah, the title of this chapter is meant to be what it is. Heh. Heh. And, no, I've never read that book. _

_Also, please note that certain terms and phrases used within were used without any intended ill will, and character opinions do not necessarily reflect my own (particularly because none of the following topics are simply black and white; pun intended.)_

_Don't worry. Chapter four will be less depressing._

_**TW**__: Racism, racial terms, and archaic ideas of biological race divisions._

* * *

**Chapter 3 – Shades of Grey**

_Five years ago…_

"What is Social Darwinism?"

My class of sixty-some students stared back at me, either not knowing the answer or afraid to speak up. I smiled, half-sat on the little table in the front of the lecture hall, and waited another few moments.

"Anyone?" I waited. "No?" I waited some more. "No one remembers from the reading?" I grinned to hide my frustration. "Alright…." I advanced my PowerPoint to a slide showcasing Herbert Spencer and his theory. "Social Darwinism takes the theory of Natural Selection and Survival of the Fittest and uses them to justify customs, laws, colonialism, and wars. This way of thinking was and still is adhered to by elitists who believe that certain 'races' of humans are… higher up on the biological ladder than others. Hitler and the Nazi party are a prime example. The Ku Klux Klan, 'skin-head' Neo-Nazies, slave-keepers… really anyone that believes they and anyone who looks like _them_ are genetically, biologically better than anyone else. This way of thinking has been more apparent in those of European ancestry and has led to the justification of slavery, genocide… things of this nature, but is certainly not exclusively practiced by Caucasians against non-Caucasians."

I advanced to a slide of Samuel Morton. "Your reading for today delved into Samuel Morton and the controversy surrounding him a little more in-depth than I will go today, but regardless of who wrote or thought these things originally, they were published and distributed as Morton's ideas."

I read what was written on the screen. "'The Caucasian race is distinguished for the facility with which it attains the highest intellectual endowments.' In other words, this is saying that white people are not only the smartest people, but are the only people _capable_ of being the smartest." I continued. "'In their intellectual character the [Asians] are ingenious, imitative, and highly susceptible of [learning]. ... So versatile are their feelings and actions, that they have been compared to the monkey race, whose attention is perpetually changing from one object to another.' So, basically, this is saying all Asians are smart, but A.D.D., and can only _mimic _white people's intelligence. I won't even get started on the comparison to the 'monkey race'…." A few nervous chuckles sounded from my class. Racism, sexism, and any other type of bigotry were topics that most underclassmen were completely uncomfortable talking about, but I always forced them to. If nothing else, I wanted these students to walk away from the class with an in-your-face reality of the human condition and our colorful past.

I continued reading the quoted material. "'In their mental character the [Native] Americans are averse to [learning], and slow in acquiring knowledge; restless, revengeful, and fond of war…. They are crafty, sensual, ungrateful, obstinate and unfeeling…. They devour the most disgusting [foods] uncooked and uncleaned, and seem to have no idea beyond providing for the present moment. ... Their mental faculties, from infancy to old age, present a continued childhood. ... [Indians] are not only averse to the restraints of education, but for the most part are incapable of a continued process of reasoning on abstract subjects'."

I waited a moment before addressing the class. "What does this description of Native Americans exemplify?"

"Ethnocentrism," one of my brighter and more pro-active students called out.

"Exactly. The noting of the strange things Indians ate, the fact that they simply _could not learn_ how to do things – what things, well… most likely things Europeans did every day, possibly things Native Americans never even thought about, or didn't have the technology to do. Basically, it's like judging a person on their ability to play the violin if they didn't previously know what a violin was. As for Native Americans not being able to envision the abstract or live beyond the moment…. Well, even as early as seven thousand years ago, Native Americans stored grain and nuts for the winter, and we know from historical times that they made a food called pemmican which would last for months on end. Making strips of dried meat is perhaps the earliest form of food storage in any human group, and dried meat can last for ages as well. But, by the time Europeans began regularly interacting with aborigines, no matter the continent, their way of life was compromised, and it's no wonder they couldn't gather the resources they were once able to in order to provide for themselves….

"Let's pick apart other bits of this quote. 'Revengeful. Ungrateful. Obstinate.' Why might this have been the case? Why were the Native Americans seen this way? Why might they have been revengeful?"

"Because they were losing their own land," another student called out.

"Absolutely. If your home was being taken away from you, wouldn't you be pissed off? Just a little bit? They were labeled as 'ungrateful' because the Europeans believed they were bestowing unto them the gift of Christianity and of, well, being European, and of course the Indians already had their own culture and religion. Religion, of course, is a prime example of the ability to think in the abstract, because, well, I don't know about you, but I've never seen an angel or a demon, but I can probably draw a horrible sketch of them." Chuckles, and an overheard murmur of "Supernatural" flowed forward from the class.

"But because the Indians didn't see God the way Europeans did, their abstract reasoning skills were seen as lacking. Oh, but they did eat raw bits of bison. Raw organs were seen as not only a delicacy by some tribes, but some of them were seen as sacred, and a _gift_ to be able to eat, sometimes reserved for the shamans. Just in case you were wondering…. And finally, by calling them 'sensual', they're basically saying that the Indians had a lot of sex. This was of course seen as a bad thing…." Snicker, snicker, chuckle and giggle. I liked my class.

I moved on to the last quote. "'In disposition the Negro is joyous, flexible, and [lazy]; [they] present a singular diversity of intellectual character, of which the far extreme is the lowest grade of humanity. ... Like most other barbarous nations their institutions are not infrequently characterized by superstition and cruelty. They appear to be fond of warlike enterprises, and are not deficient in personal courage; but, once overcome, they yield to their destiny, and accommodate themselves with amazing facility to every change of circumstance. The Negroes have little invention, but strong powers of imitation, so that they readily acquire mechanic arts. They have a great talent for music, and all their external senses are remarkably acute'." I paused after finishing. "What's different about this quote?"

Silence.

"There are a lot of good things," a student said quietly.

"Yes," I nodded, "there _are _a lot of good things said. What are those good things about?"

Silence.

"Courage, and…," a student pondered out loud, "adapting."

"Working with their hands," another called out.

"Why do you say that?" I asked the recent commenter.

"'Mechanic arts'. They say they are good with their hands," the student confirmed.

"Exactly. And what does this… relate to? Why is this noted?"

Silence.

"Slavery," another student offered.

"Yep," I affirmed. "Basically, slave-owners didn't feel guilty, because their African slaves were 'born' for manual labor."

A frown formed on my face as I gazed at an unoccupied chair. Thinking of the history of my world always made me depressed, and often very angry. I felt great empathy for people who lived through atrocities committed against them by other humans, particularly those against my own distant relatives. Genocide and racism in general really, really pissed me off. Not having personally been affected by racism, however, I could only say that I suffered from white person's guilt, big time. "This is Social Darwinism," I said with a sigh, ending my segment on Anthropology's own sorry past.

"Now," I continued, "let's talk about the word 'race'."

. . . . . .

_Five months ago…_

"Grey-faced bitch! Get the fuck out of my way. Get the fuck out of all our ways. Stay in the Grey Quarter where Ulfric put you – where you belong!" I heard the angry man shout from the other end of the market square. The phrase 'grey-faced' was a new one to my ears, and I was more confused than anything.

I passed through the somewhat dense midday crowd, avoiding bumping into people with my rounded, pregnant belly. I finally saw the 'grey-faced bitch' in question. She was a nice Dark Elf woman, Luaffyn, a bard who often played at the Candlehearth inn. She was a lovely person, both inside and out, and certainly not grey in the face. Her skin was a distinct dark teal. She did have those same terrifying red eyes that most Dark Elves had, though, but Luaffyn, like Brelyna, was anything but terrifying.

Before I reached Luaffyn's side, the angry Nord man stomped off, spewing something about Skyrim belonging to the Nords and Ulfric being the Nord's King for a reason.

"Luaffyn," I approached her, lightly grasping her arm. "Are you alright? Who was that man?"

"Get off of me!" she screeched, swatting my hand away.

"What? Luaffyn, what's wrong?"

"Just… go." Her hands were up, as if defending herself from being looked upon by me. "Go back to the palace. To the rest of your kind and your elf-hating Jarl. Leave me alone." Luaffyn walked away, but not before shooting me a morose, betrayed look.

I plodded slowly all the way back to the palace, fur-clad feet heavy on the stone. I had a knapsack full of necessities from the market, and mind full of doubt.

Yrsarald was in the map room when I entered. The man looked up at me, worry written across his face. "What's wrong?"

I set my knapsack down against the wall and gazed at Yrsarald. I bit my lip, not sure how to broach the subject weighing on my mind. Yrsarald approached me, his hands gravitating instantly to my baby belly, lips pressing against my forehead.

"What is it?" he asked, nudging my chin up, urging me to look him in his worried eyes.

I kept my voice low. Stone walls allowed for far-away eaves-dropping. "I… heard things. In the market. Things about Ulfric – that he only cares about Nords, and… there was this man. He…," I frowned, deeply. "He called that Dark Elf bard something awful. She's so nice, Luaffyn. I've talked with her a few times…. How could anyone hate her so much? She started crying, so I went to go help her but she hit my hand away. She told me to go back to the palace with the rest of 'my kind'. I don't," I wiped a tear from my cheek, "I don't know what happened, Yrsa."

Yrsarald took me into his arms and held me close. "You've been here for months, and only now you hear such things being said?"

I stepped back, away from Yrsarald. "Do you mean this is common? Awful things being said to elves? No wonder people say such bad things about Ulfric."

"Ulfric has reason to hate elves."

I sat down on a chair, resting my aching feet. "Yes, you have told me. But those were not Dark Elves." In the past, Ulfric had been held captive and tortured by soldiers of the Aldmeri Dominion, High Elves, sometimes called Altmer. Thalmor, they were called.

"No, but," Yrsarald pulled up a chair and sat next to me, "Ulfric has trouble trusting anyone, even Nords. It's true; he has no reason to distrust or dislike anyone but the Thalmor and the Dominion. He just can't help it."

"So he allows the Dark Elves to live in such bad houses? Allows people to be horrible to them? Because he can't trust people? I saw the small area, in the eastern part of the city. I walked through it. It smelled, Yrsa. It smelled, and there was stuff in the road, and it reminded me of bad parts of my world where people have no money. Why does Ulfric do nothing? This is not fair, to force elves to live that way, just because he has a bad past with other elves."

"Did you not just say that your world has similar conditions?"

I blinked at Yrsarald. "Yes, but…." My jaw hung low as words failed to come. I pressed my lips together when I realized that it was true, that we had the exact same problem in America. Impoverished people, more often than not people of color, lived in such conditions, mostly in cities. Many anthropologists explained this by simply citing history. _Social truth is an artifact of power_. I looked over my shoulder at Yrsarald and said, "The truth of the world is a remnant of powerful people."

Yrsarald furrowed his brow and asked, "What does that mean?"

I sighed. "It means, things are how they are because of who makes the rules. In my world, people who look like Nords, Imperials… or people from High Rock, they make the rules, at least in my land, and have made the rules for hundreds of years. It is horrible, and is something I hate about my world. Anyone who looks like you or me is seen as having a kind of power over anyone who looks like… well, darker. Darker like… oh, what are they called? Redguard. We do not have elves, just humans, but I think if we did have elves they would be called bad names in my world. It is disgusting. There is no reason for it. A long time ago, people who looked like me called everyone else less of a person. Less human. Closer to animals. Because, they thought, people with skin the color of yours or mine were more like a god. This is only the thoughts of people from one land, though. Some people from other lands see anyone who is not like them, whatever they look like, as being less of a person, alright to be a slave. But the land of my ancestors had the money, the power. And, so, _their_ truth became the truth of the entire world…." I hugged my round belly. "Thinking of the horrible history of my world makes me sick. People like me in my world, we work to help people understand why this happened, why people hate people not like them. Most people never learn these things, though."

A hand curved around my robed knee and stayed there. "I do not think our worlds are so different," Yrsarald said.

"No?"

The man sighed, and then wrapped an arm around me. "Many Nords think that Skyrim belong to them, and that no one else should share the land. But, this land once belonged to other people as well. Nords today easily forget this."

"Who was here before the Nords? I remember Ulfric talking to me about native… 'vol',… 'volgen'…."

"_Volginen_. That is not their correct name; it is rather used to insult them. They are called the Reachmen, and they live near Markarth."

"Oh. So, they were in Markarth but the Empire wanted them out. Why? If they are native to the land, it is their land."

"Markarth, the city, was not theirs, no. The land itself – yes, it can be said that the land should be theirs. But they were not the first to live in The Reach. Long ago, Dwemer made Markarth. They are a people now gone from this world. After, for thousands of years, Reachmen, and even orcs, lived across that land. Then the Empire won it from the Reachmen. That was a long time ago."

"But why did the Empire take the land? Because it was part of Skyrim?"

"Silver," he said. "Markarth has silver."

"Oh, well…," I laughed a little. "Of course. The Empire must have their shiny things…."

"Markarth is a very rich city, yes, but from what I know, the native Reachmen do not desire silver. They simply want the land."

"Then why do they not have it?"

"Because they keep killing Nord farmers and others who cannot defend themselves."

"Oh…." It would have been naïve of me to say that they should all just learn to live together on the same land, so I didn't. It took a long, long time, after all, for Europeans in colonized lands to stop exterminating the natives that they deemed lesser than them. Despite eventually sharing the land peacefully, the _conquistador _mentality never really went away from the dominant population, and aborigines worldwide never really stopped being oppressed. From an evolutionist standpoint, the Europeanization of the world was nothing more than one group being outcompeted for resources by another. From a human standpoint, it was simply abominable. I was legitimately shocked to learn of similar histories in a completely different world. It was a disappointing realization, to say the least. "Do you think anything could change that?" I asked Yrsarald. "Stop the killings?"

Yrsarald shook his head. "The hatred has been there too long. It is the same with almost every race. Attachments to land can be very strong, as can beliefs about others. The Nords believe Skyrim belongs to them. Many Dark Elves feel the same way about their country. And the High Elves think they are better than everyone. Many elves consider humans to be idiots, just like Wuunferth does." Yrsarald gave a small chuckle, but was soon frowning again. "Elves once used humans as slaves. The Dark Elves used to have Argonian slaves. Humans had Khajiit and Argonian slaves. No one truly trusts orcs, and orcs don't usually trust anyone but other orcs. And anyone found out to be werebear or werewolf is usually hunted and killed. But… compared to what the world used to be like, I think things are better. Ulfric and Galmar accepted me despite knowing what I was. As far as I know no one is a slave to anyone, now, not legally anyway. And while there are still some who see people different from them and say horrible things, elves live and work in Skyrim. Argonians and Khajiit and orcs, too. There are big trust issues, though, still within people's minds. I don't know if they'll ever truly go away."

"But, Yrsa, why not at least make the place where the Dark Elves live here better? Clean it. The houses are falling apart."

"Deborah," Yrsarald said, turning to face me, "there is no money. The entire city suffers, not just the old area of the city that was given to the Dark Elves who came here in need of somewhere to live."

"They needed somewhere to live?"

"Yes, after the fire-mountain erupted in their country."

_Refugees_, I thought. "And Ulfric just gave them the homes?"

"No, that happened two hundred years ago. The area where the elves live wasn't always so horrible, it has just…," Yrsarald shifted uneasily. "The money has gone elsewhere over the last thirty years."

"War."

"Yes."

"War always eats money. In any world…."

Yrsarald leaned toward me and planted a kiss on my cheek. "I'm sorry your friend was upset with you. Perhaps wait a few days and then seek her out. Anyone who knows you should know that you do not see people different from yourself in a bad way. If that was the case, you would not be with me. You would not be happy at all in this world. But you are doing well, no longer scared, it seems."

A small smile crept across my face, but only briefly. "I wonder if there are other worlds out there that have never known slaves, or hatred between people who look different."

"There is always someone who thinks they deserve power over another."

I frowned. "From what I have heard, Ulfric is that person."

Yrsarald's sigh was more of a low growl. "There are people who hate Ulfric for things he has done, or not done. He retook Markarth for the Empire. The natives of the area now hate him. Some people think Ulfric is tearing this country apart, and so they hate him, even though I don't know any Nord that _doesn't_ want to be able to worship Talos. Though there is no money to fix what is broken in the city, and no troops to spare to hunt down outlaws that cause problems in the Hold, those people affected by the lack of money or troops think Ulfric keeps them to himself on purpose. And, so, they hate him. But he doesn't think he deserves power over others, not any more than a Jarl or King would be given. He does what he can with what he has."

Yrsarald's excuses for the Jarl were starting to get on my nerves. I would have understood if Ulfric was simply a selfish man. I wouldn't have liked it, but I would have understood. But, at the same time, I had no idea how one combatted racism other than by arresting people for harassment, and even that was unlikely to have lasting effects. The poor living conditions of the area where the Dark Elves lived, however, there was no excuse for that. It felt as if Ulfric was just another politician, pandering to those who would help him most in fighting for him – the Nords. The longer the war between the Stormcloaks and the Empire lasted, the worse off the Dark Elves in Windhelm would be. I wondered if Ulfric treated had the elves of Windhelm better if they would have joined his army, or if the elves supported the Empire. I wondered if they simply didn't care either way who won the war.

"I know there is no simple way to make things better, Yrsa, but I just… I think Ulfric is being a coward. He is hiding behind the fight to make Skyrim free. If there truly was no money, everyone would be hungry. You, me, Ulfric…. Everyone. But we have plenty of food, Yrsa. I am getting so fat from the food, here."

"You are not fat, you're with child."

I grumbled and hid behind my palms for a moment, allowing myself to calm down. "I just… I feel so helpless. I want to do things, but I don't know what to do. And I am so… _angry_."

"There is nothing you _can_ do, Deborah."

I glared at Yrsarald, and then looked away. "I suppose, then, I will just be angry." I stood, grabbed my knapsack, and walked up to my bedroom.

. . . . . .

_Five seconds ago…_

Windhelm's citizens crammed in as close as they could to watch the midday funeral ceremony. I noticed that mostly non-elf people were in the crowd, which I found odd considering three of the dead were Dark Elves. When the ceremony began, Helgird, the priestess of Arkay, had her new apprentice, a young man, begin what I supposed was the traditional Nord funeral chant.

"_O Dath…_

_O Dath…_

_Kir veita anar eruva…."_

Ulfric Stormcloak lay on a stone slab in front of the Hall of the Dead. Helgird had prepared Ulfric's body for the funeral the night before with Yrsarald's help. A linen cloth had been draped over what had been his head. Yrsarald had picked out the clothes Ulfric was to be dressed in: a heavy cloth tunic, embroidered down the front, and dark cloth trousers. Yrsarald had helped Helgird dress Ulfric's corpse in the clothes.

The five other dead, citizens of the city I did not know, were laid out to the side of Ulfric on wooden pallets. One of them, a street child named Sofie, and an older beggar woman, Silda, had been burned alive by the dragon. The three others were adults who died in a building collapse in the Grey Quarter, the area of the city where the Dark Elves lived. I did not know them, but their names were Malthyr, Suvaris, and Belyn. The buildings were in such disrepair in the Grey Quarter that the dragon barely had to _look_ at the buildings to make them quake, apparently. The three Dark Elves had just happened to be talking in the street when the building stones fell on them. All five victims of the attack were shrouded completely with linen, likely due to the state of their bodies.

"_Hvera thola ast enda_

_Mina hanten se iz fanga."_

After the funeral, Ulfric would be taken to his final resting place deep in the mortuary where his ancestors had been laid to rest. The other Nord dead would be buried, if the ground was not frozen solid, in the city cemetery. The Dark Elf dead would be cremated, as per their custom.

"_Tid ath Mizkun ers sarka_

_Da sil ti Shor zeik skul bera."_

Yrsarald stood silent at my side, arms folded over his chest. One of my arms hooked his, and I used him for comfort as well as warmth. Thankfully, a guard had retrieved my cloak from Calixto's house the night before, but I was still shivering.

After the funeral chanting was completed, Helgird recited the dead's last rites. "_Svasa _Ulfric Stormcloak, son of Bjorn Hareksen, Jarl of Windhelm, _Upjafir_ of the Great War, Defender of Talos and Leader of the Rebellion, we _felan_ your soul to Aetherius. _Nathen_ of the Nine Gods be upon you. Little Sofie, _afle_ of flowers, and Silda, both children of the city, we _felan_ your souls to Aetherius. _Nathen_ of the Nine Gods be upon you both. Malthyr Elenil, businessman and bartender; Suvaris Atheron, book-keeper for the Shatter-Shield Shipping Office; and Belyn Hlaalu, farmer – we _felan_ your souls to Aetherius. _Nathen_ of the Nine Gods and Azura be upon you all."

When Helgird's blessings finished, Galmar stepped up to take her place. He cleared his throat. Yrsarald left my side to join in at the center of our attention. I listened as both men delivered Ulfric's eulogy, reciting his various deeds and exploits, hardships he had faced, and how he and his guards, and me, heroically slayed a dragon. I felt a small pang of guilt when Yrsarald called his best friend's death a "terrible tragedy" – I was, admittedly, only sad because Yrsarald was sad. I felt empathy for my lover's loss, but that was it. I knew I should have been more affected by the Jarl's death, though. Ulfric _did_ allow me to stay at his palace, train with Wuunferth, and even let my weird little family move in to my old bedroom next to Yrsarald's. I just couldn't shake the feeling that the dead Jarl was an awful racist and a scheming politician. I wondered if the Dark Elves of the city were throwing a party in their slum before they mourned the loss of their brethren; I wondered why most of the city's Dark Elves were not at the funeral.

The remainder of the ceremony was performed by anyone present who had parting thoughts about the five dead citizens. Everyone seemed to love the little girl, Sofie, but no one had much to say about Silda, except that she offered conversation for patrolling guards and that some people had given her money occasionally, feeling sorry for her. The families and employers of the Dark Elves spoke kind words in turn, but kept their speeches to a minimum.

And then it was over.

As the crowd dispersed, Yrsarald walked back over to me with a sullen look on his face. Without a word, he enveloped me in his lumberjack arms. I felt his fingers dig into the fur of my cloak. For several long and wonderful moments, he simply held me there in front of the Hall of the Dead. I wasn't sure if he was hugging me for himself, for me, or for us both. It didn't really matter. We both needed a hug, but we had just attended his best friend's funeral – he deserved as much comfort as I could give him.

* * *

_**AN: **__The funeral song lyrics were based on the traditional song "O Death" (I recommend the version by Jen Titus, however abbreviated)._

_The version here reads: _

"_O Death_

_Please give another year._

_All endure at the end_

_My hands of ice grip._

_Time and Mercy are absent_

_Your soul to Shor I will bear."_

_That's all until next week! In the meantime, I recommend checking out the works of anyone on my Favorite Authors list!_

___**Kira Mackey: **As "unlocking" Shouts with a dragon soul is a game mechanic, as are Word Walls, I'm going about this more realistically. Ancient dragon's souls are likely more powerful, and may cause more internal commotion when absorbed. As Deb experienced some memories of the dragon, she learned some dragon words. That knowledge at once became basically innate. I don't see why a dragon, particularly an ancient one, can't know more than one Shout. Also, the dialogue that Deb experienced in her dragon-memory contained all of those words in sentence form. Same with Torug in his short story. But the dragon that he first downed was not as ancient as the one Deb downed, and he only learned the primary words of multiple Shouts. Anyway, technically if you absorbed the soul of a dragon you'd understand their entire language and possibly even their way of thinking (as Deb knew that Viinturuth wanted to crunch on their bones), but perhaps if one was utterly linked to that dragon soul, it'd be overwhelming. Baby steps, I guess. As for Word Walls, Deb already saw one in Saarthal, and nothing happened. This means that one has to actually read the thing in order to learn the words. It is unrealistic to automatically know which word would be useful in a Shout... unless perhaps you already have an actual dragon's soul inside you (as opposed to whatever Akatosh breathed into Deb's re-made body), and maybe not even then, particularly if the dragon soul inside you didn't know that Shout._


	4. The Brighter Side

_**AN: **__A good "feels" song for this chapter is "Weight of Your World" by Roo Panes. Hopefully this chapter will make you cry and smile at the same time. Let me know…._

_**Reply to Dazela**: Responding to your question about Deb's physique, she was, back on Earth, as you imagined, basically the subject of a Rubens painting. She had some muscle from working in the field, but she was always big (she's also tall, about 5'9"). Since being taken into Skyrim, however, she consistently lost weight, probably due to the lack of high fructose corn syrup and cheeseburgers, but then lost considerable weight during her mage training, as casting spells every day takes energy. While pregnant, she gained some weight back and ate filling palace food (sometimes in bed with Yrsarald, heh), and would probably be a size 16US/18UK __(similar to Ruben's "Andromeda", just with much bigger breasts)_. 

_I would bet that the Nord mentality about physique is the harder the better, which means most Nord women are going to be fairly strong (not necessarily muscular, but strong). Deb would definitely stand out. Stenvar has commented that she was, when he first met her, "soft and squishy like a rotten berry", but he has also said how much he either doesn't mind or even prefers it (Dibella is all curves!). And Yrsarald, well, he's pretty big himself - an ex-soldier __emotional eater _given a desk job... So, not all Nord men, at least, want a typical Nord woman. To each their own. 

* * *

**Chapter 4 – The Brighter Side**

The families of the fallen Dark Elves collected the bodies, carrying them on makeshift stretchers, and walked away with them to proceed with their own funeral. They were going to perform the ceremony outside the city walls where they could safely set up three funeral pyres. Yrsarald related this information to me as we walked back to the palace, but he didn't know why the Dark Elves preferred to burn their dead.

As we approached the palace, Yrsarald lowered his voice, but continued talking. "I want to be burned, when I die."

I turned to him, for whatever reason almost pleased. "Me too," I said.

"You do? Is that what people in your world do?"

"No. Well, yes. No…." I shook my head. "Not like you do, here, not on a pile of wood. They used to…. Well, I suppose in some lands they still do, but in my land, most people are buried, and some are burned in special buildings that have very, very hot fires inside them only for this purpose."

Yrsarald didn't have a response to my description of a crematorium. Instead, his hand found mine, and my gloved fingers intertwined with his. We walked hand-in-hand the rest of the way to the palace.

Jorleif and Galmar were already in the main hall when we entered. "There you are," Galmar said to me, reaching out a hand and motioning for me to come forward.

"Here I am," I said.

"Galmar needs to speak with you," Jorleif elaborated.

"I…," I turned back to Galmar. "Oh. Alright." _So much for having a quiet, private talk with Yrsa._

"Listen," Galmar began, "if what happened yesterday means what we think it means—"

"It _does_, Galmar," Yrsarald interrupted.

The bear-helmed veteran soldier turned to give Yrsarald a stern look, and then returned his gaze to me. "You're Dragonborn. Or, at least, you took into you the soul of that dragon. We all saw it, the guards saw it, likely some citizens, too. As far as we know, that means you're Dragonborn. It also means that," Galmar's shoulders sank, "you, _you_ are what we need right now." The old man looked like he had sucked on a rotten egg.

"What," I looked at the three men around me, "what do you mean, I am what you need?" I paused a moment, a tiny smirk attempting to sneak onto my face. "You need a mage?"

"No, not a _mage_," Galmar nearly spat the word. He pressed his lips together in thought. "Something to give the troops hope. Something to help them see Ulfric's death is not the end of the Rebellion."

_Oh._ "You want to… show me to your soldiers…."

Galmar nodded.

I looked at Yrsarald. "I thought you, Ulfric's soldier-brother, would be the one to bring hope."

My partner shook his head. "No, I'm needed here. You're needed… well, wherever you're needed. If you are indeed Dragonborn," his voice quieted, "then you're needed by the people. Very much needed."

"I leave tomorrow, or the day after," Galmar said, "as soon as I can to visit the camps. I want _you _with me."

"Oengul is going to try and find some armor that fits you," Jorleif added.

"Armor!?" The word was nearly foreign to my tongue. "No, wait." I took a step back. "I cannot go _now_! I cannot leave Flavia." I turned to Yrsarald. "You _know_ this."

"I tried to tell him," Yrsarald explained, nodding toward Galmar.

The bear-helmed veteran Stormcloak grumbled something about women. "When _can_ you leave the infant?"

I thought a brief moment. "Months more, at least. It depends on _these._" I unceremoniously grabbed my breasts. "I may be feeding Flavia for a year or two."

"A _year_!?" Galmar growled.

I sighed, and sat down at the banquet table. I was hungry. Not sleeping much had caused me to have a severe appetite. Eating was also a distraction from the dragon voice in my head. While I poured myself some honey-water, I addressed Galmar. "Just put the skull of the dragon in a big cart and show it to the soldiers. Tell them I am… doing important Dragonborn things." I took a bite out of a pastry and turned to look at the three men who simply stood there, watching me, expectant. "What?" I hated their staring. "Fine, then tell them I am busy breastfeeding." I spread some soft cheese on a slice of bread. "It is important, and I may be Dragonborn, so… it is an important Dragonborn thing."

"The Stormcloaks need you out there with them!" Galmar shouted, moving to stand in my line of sight. "They need to _see_ the Dragonborn!"

"I am not a Stormcloak!" I rebutted with a mouth full of cheesy bread. I finished chewing, and swallowed. "You did not want me, so I am not a Stormcloak!" I turned to Yrsarald, who looked shocked at my declaration. I wasn't sure what he had expected. I turned back to my food. "I am sorry Ulfric is dead, but I am not yours to do things with. I have my own life. For now I am needed here, and then we will see what I am to do about this dragon thing."

"'Dragon thing'!?" Galmar slammed his fists down onto the banquet table in front of me before he leaned forward and shoved his face in front of mine. "That _orc_ killed your Jarl. The orc was Dragonborn; _you _are Dragonborn. What do you think will happen when word reaches my men that 'the Dragonborn' killed Ulfric Stormcloak!?"

"Are your soldiers so slow that they cannot understand the difference between orc and not orc!?" I shouted back at him.

"Stop it, you two!" Yrsarald yelled. He did not look happy. "Obviously Deborah cannot leave Flavia, and she cannot take the infant with her. You don't need her, Galmar. She's right – take the dragon skull, take guards with you who saw everything. The soldiers trust you; they will believe what you tell them."

Galmar glared at me, stood up straight, and puffed his chest. His massive arm muscles rippled with rage. Before turning to leave, he muttered what sounded to me like "fucking women".

Yrsarald gave me a weak, sympathetic smile and turned to leave the main hall. I grabbed a plate of food and followed him, and we walked to our bedroom in silence. When we were inside and the door was closed, Yrsarald grabbed a ceramic jug and, with an inhuman roar, hurled it across the room. I recoiled as the thing shattered into innumerable sherds, its contents splashing over a considerable expanse of the room.

I stood back, cautious, wondering if Yrsarald's violent venting was over or not. After a few silent moments of panting in an attempt to dissipate his pain and anger, he finally spoke. "I need to change."

I asked, very delicately, "Did you get wet?"

"No, no." His fists clenched. "I need to _change_."

"Oh." Change. _Skiftar_. I supposed what he meant by that word, in the current context, was "shift". He needed to shift.

"You can leave, if you want." He began to remove his funeral clothes.

_Hell, no_, I thought to myself. _No way_. _This time, I will not run. I will not leave you. Never again. Never._ I approached my partner with tentative steps. Though he still looked like he wanted to kill something or someone, he looked somewhat surprised to see me still there, with him; he was surprised even more when I began to help him remove his tunic. The thing was ornate, much more so than anything else I'd seen of his. His bear-paw uniform had been thrown away, the fur and leather having been irreparably stained with Ulfric's blood, a relic of a tragedy for which my partner did not want a memento. I wondered if Yrsarald would get a new one.

As I unfastened the toggles of Yrsarald's tunic, the man watched, letting his arms fall to his sides. Once loose, I locked eyes with my partner and lifted the tunic off of his shoulders, catching it before it hit the floor. I folded it against my chest, turned, and placed it on his dresser. I felt fingers gently graze my forearm. I turned back to face Yrsarald. His face was expressionless, perhaps neutralized between sadness, anger, or withdrawal from them both. I began to undo his belt, and he let me. His heavy cloth trousers fell to his feet, and he stepped out of them as well as his boots. I collected them from the floor and set them aside. I noticed his fists continuing to stay clenched as I began to untuck his loincloth. When I turned to face Yrsarald again, I saw the yellow light in his eyes begin to brighten. He was ready. I leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. I then walked away, letting my hand caress his form as I passed. I walked over to my dresser and picked up the ugly, stuffed toy bear he had given me months ago. I crawled onto the bed, hugged the bear to my chest, and waited for Yrsarald to shift into his werebear form.

The process happened faster than last time, likely due to the rage that had been building inside him. As I did before, I watched the entire phenomenon. When Yrsarald was gone and a man-bear behemoth stood in his place, a roar, similar to that of a lion, bellowed from deep within the beast's chest. The guttural sound vibrated my insides and gave me a chill. Yrsarald's werebear shift had previously been peaceful, and despite being terrified the entire time I later admitted to myself that I almost found Bear-Yrsa cute. It was the fur; I liked furry things. This time, however… I was again terrified, but realized just how un-cute Bear-Yrsa truly was. _Bear-Yrsa, _I mused._ Yrsa-Bear. Ursa, bear. _The revelation temporarily amused me, despite knowing that "Yrsa" did not mean "bear" in Norren.

The fact that Yrsarald, in his werebear form or not, was lethal did not escape me. Yrsarald was large, powerful, and smart. Bear-Yrsa was brutal, enraged, and dangerous. His mouth was open in a constant snarl and this time I got a good look at his vicious teeth. I watched as the man I loved stomped around the room, panting and grunting, part of the time on all fours and other times on just his legs. He roared again. I heard the glass windows rattle. Others in the palace – guards, the cook and other staff who might not have known about Yrsarald – had to be hearing this. I hoped that they would ignore it.

The man had a right to be angry. His best friend had been murdered. His war was compromised. His lover was no longer simply his. I wondered, as I watched the bear-man, if our relationship would weather whatever was to come. That is, if both of us survived. I had a feeling that the Imperials would be swarming Windhelm in no time. I wondered if we were all going to die.

Several more long and generally horrifying moments of intermittent grunting, stomping, and roaring later, Yrsarald stilled, and shifted back into his Norse god-like human form. I crawled to the edge of the bed, ready to comfort him. I was taken aback, however, by the audible sobs that escaped the hunched-over man. His shoulders were shaking. He was breaking down.

I ran over to Yrsarald, dropped to my knees, and wrapped my arms around him.

. . . . . .

The nap we both took was practically obligatory. Upon waking, Yrsarald and I lay together in silence for a long time. Plenty was said with our eyes, delicate kisses, and gentle caresses. _Yes, I am here for you_, said my kisses. _Yes, I am doing alright_, said my smiles.

Yrsarald was grateful – still utterly distraught and angry, but grateful. Both of us were sad, for ourselves and for one another. Yrsarald was worried, and defeated. I too was worried, but oddly hopeful.

As if nothing had happened between the present and the funeral hours ago, Yrsarald continued our previous conversation. "Why do you want to be burned when you die?" he asked, his voice so quiet I barely understood him. I realized he didn't exactly want to talk about the subject of death, but I supposed he understood that last wishes were important for couples to discuss.

"I…," I stalled, not sure how to explain my feelings toward the decision I made years ago. "I didn't like my life very much in my world. There were many good things, but also some very bad things. In my world, we are not sure what happens after death, but, I didn't want to risk becoming stuck to my life there. Like a ghost, you understand? I didn't want to… remain. I just wanted to be gone. So, I wanted to be burned."

Yrsarald wrapped his arms around me and pressed his lips to mine. He then moved back, letting his hand drift down my arm to end with his fingers intertwining with mine. "What very bad things?" he asked.

I frowned. "I was… never very happy. I was alright. I was… what is your word for… not happy but, not sad either?"

"_Vunra_," he answered. "_Vunra_," he repeated, staring at my shoulder. "I was _vunra_, too. Not happy, not sad. _Vunra_ with what I had, being alone with the gods and my friends, my job…." He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and gazed at me again. "Why were you not happy?"

I thought about what I would say, what I _should _say, feeling my frown lines deepen and anxiety threatening to overcome me. I opted for complete honesty, despite how crazy Yrsarald might think me. "I… ehh… I did not like my world. I think that is why I did the job that I did. I studied ancient people because… I wanted to live, in a small way, another life." I gave a tiny, stress-filled laugh. "Be careful what you hope for."

"You think the gods were listening?"

I shook my head. "No, no. No one was listening to me." I tapped the side of my head. "It was all up here. I stayed quiet. I told no one what I truly wanted."

"The gods can hear your thoughts."

I laughed a little louder that time. "Yrsa, no gods are listening in my world. Were the gods from your world listening to me?" I shook my head again. "I don't know. There were portals, yes, but… no. I was alone. No one was listening. There was nowhere to go. I was stuck being _vunra_ with what I had." I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes, willing myself to calm down. "So, I did the one thing that made me almost-happy, the one thing I enjoyed doing for a job. I married a man that made me almost-happy. I never loved him, not like I thought I should have loved…."

"Why did you marry a man you did not love?"

"I…, no, Yrsa, I loved my… how do you say… no-longer-husband?"

"_Fyra_ husband."

"_Fyra_ husband…. I loved him, but not the way I love you. Nothing like us. Perhaps that is why it did not…. Why he…."

Yrsarald lifted my chin so that I would look at him. "What did he do? I remember you said that you were not unhappy that your marriage ended."

I was not terribly fond of talking about my ex-husband. I closed my eyes and breathed in Yrsarald's calming scent, preparing myself to revisit one of the more painful chapters of my life.

. . . . . .

"_You… what!?"_

_Greg turned his back to me. I could see him rubbing his forehead._

"_Greg!" I shouted at my husband._

"_You were gone for a year!" he turned and shouted back at me._

"_You think that's an excuse!? Blaming my fieldwork?" I couldn't believe my ears. "One year. You couldn't keep it in your fucking pants for a year!?"_

_He walked up to me, nostrils flaring. "She's pregnant," he said. _

_My breath caught. _This is not happening, _I said to myself, repeatedly._

_Greg started laughing nervously. "One time," he continued. "It only took one time. Unlike you, who must be… broken or something."_

_I coughed, choking on the little oxygen I could inhale. I slumped onto the sofa. "My god…." I turned my head side to side, over and over again. "Since when is that so… so FUCKING important that you…." I looked up at Greg in utter disbelief. "Were you drunk?"_

_He shook his head. "No, Deb. No. We'd been… close… for a while. It just happened one night. But," he walked closer to the sofa and stood before me, his arms folded across his chest. "I'm going to stay with her." His arms dropped to his sides and he stared down at me. I couldn't look at him anymore and had to turn away. I buried my face in my hands. "I love her."_

"_Oh my god…."_

"_I'm sorry. Really, I am. But," he sighed, pausing before the likely horrible thing that would follow. "I need a divorce."_

"_Fuck…."_

"_I'm going to move in with her, soon. I'll stay there tonight." I heard him walk around the coffee table and sit down next to me on the sofa. "Look, I just wanted to be honest with you. You deserve that much, at least. I am sorry. I'm truly, truly sorry. But I… I just can't do this with you anymore."_

_I couldn't stop the tears from falling. At least I was covering my face with my hands. _No,_ I told myself. _Fuck him. Let him see you cry._ I lowered my hands and turned to Greg. He was horribly, awfully calm, no longer angry or upset, not anything. His rich brown eyes were clear of any signs of sadness, guilt, or regret. _

_I wanted to bite his throat out. I wanted to slam his face against the wall and rip out his carotid with my teeth. Instead, I opted for the non-self-damning high road. Though I was trembling, I stood from the sofa. Glaring down at Greg, I clenched my fists. _Don't punch him. Don't.

"_Get out," I ordered him._

_He nodded, and then stood from the sofa._

_It took every ounce of willpower within me to refrain from attacking the man as he walked toward the apartment door. He picked up the overnight bag that he had already prepared, turned, gave me an emotionless look, and left. _

_The apartment was suddenly quiet. Too quiet. A void. I stared at my suitcase that was still standing by the door, filled with unwashed clothes and field gear and gifts I'd brought back from Romania. I walked over to the large bag, unzipped it, and found the gift I had bought for Greg. With a scream, I threw it against the wall._

. . . . . .

We then lay in silence. Yrsarald had held me tight as I told him about my ex-husband. When I paused, he gave me a squeeze. I continued with my tale. "We ended our marriage maybe… two years before I came here. I was happy to do it."

Yrsarald backed away again somewhat; he looked distraught. "He left you for another woman because you were gone often? And could not make children?"

I nodded. "Something like that. He could not be alone, I suppose. And, yes. I tried to get pregnant, and it did not happen, but I don't know why."

"But it happens now…."

_It did. It did happen, now_. I gazed at Yrsarald. "Perhaps the gods fixed me… or all the healing spells I cast did. It fixed me."

Yrsarald leaned forward and kissed my forehead. "Were you more happy, after he left?"

I nodded slowly. "I was angry and sad, in the beginning, but became more happy with time. But… still not very happy." I kissed Yrsarald, muffling a sob that managed to escape my lungs. I then wrapped my arm around his bare chest and held him tighter than ever. "I thank your gods for bringing me to you. I love you. I love you…."

"Deborah, I love you too, but…," his strong hands caressed my back, "do you truly think you need a man to be happy?"

"I didn't say that." I slid back and peered up at him. "I just felt… I felt not complete before. All my life, I did." I frowned, and reached up to entangle my fingers in his hair. "Maybe it truly was fate… fate for me to be here. Not just with you but… _here_. I am scared, very, very scared, but…," I smiled at my partner, "I am now happy. Very, very happy." Yrsarald wrapped his arms around me again. "Very happy," I repeated.

"You make me very happy, too." We kissed again, and we did not stop kissing for many long, loving, bittersweet moments.

After my chin began to chafe from Yrsarald's beard, I had to put an end to our embrace. I then remembered I could probably heal the chafed skin, and I did. We both laughed, and kissed some more. I realized though that we had likely lost track of time, and pushed Yrsarald away. "Is there not something now?" I asked. "A feast, or… something, in honor of the dead?"

"Not until tonight."

"Oh," I said, turning to check the amount of light coming in from the window. Satisfied that we still had some time to kill, I continued our previous conversation about last wishes. "Why do you want to be burned when you die?"

"It was tradition with my family. But, I just like the idea. It is the old way, to be burned. The Nords' ancestors in Atmora could not bury their dead. The ground was frozen, like it is here a lot of the time. So, they just burned them. I suppose I also like the idea of my soul being sent up to the sky in smoke, and my ashes being returned to the earth. But, yes, I understand what you said – not wanting to remain. I sometimes hope that my soul will just… go away after I die. But," he sighed, "I may not have a choice."

"No choice?"

Yrsarald didn't look at me. "When I die, my soul will likely go to _Hircine's_ realm in Oblivion."

I blinked. I blinked again. "What?"

"All werebeasts go to him when they die." He finally looked at me, the frown lines around his mouth creased deeply.

"To who? In Oblivion?" I bit my lip. "A Daedra?"

Yrsarald nodded. "_Hircine_. His realm is a hunting ground."

"A _hunting _ground?"

"Yes," he answered plainly as he stood from the bed. He then walked over to his dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a box. "It isn't my choice," he continued. "It isn't anyone's choice. Anyone who is like me, who can change into an animal or a man-beast, is… owned by _Hircine_." He then walked with the box over to the bed and sat down, resting his back against his pillow and headboard.

I was bewildered. Yrsarald was talking about a Daedra whose name sounded like the English words "hear seen" and it didn't make any sense to me. "Why does he own you? Does that mean Meridia owns me!?"

"I don't know. Perhaps." Yrsarald's frown remained. "But, you are also Dragonborn, so… you will probably go to Sovngarde."

Sovngarde. Otherwise known as heaven, but from what I'd learned about it, Sovngarde sounded a lot like Folkvangr, the Norse version of the Summerland; it even boasted its own Valhalla, called _Vurmund_. I wasn't quite sure if I understood the belief correctly, but from what I'd been told by friends and by Yrsarald, everyone dreamt of living their afterlife in Sovngarde, but only the truly valiant ended up there, or at least stayed there permanently. The souls of the ordinary were reincarnated, or spent their afterlife in Oblivion, which was not always like my world's concept of hell.

"Yrsa," I whispered as I sat up, facing him, trying not to cry, "does this mean that we… we won't…." I couldn't finish the sentence. It wasn't possible. I refused to believe his words as truth. When I died I would either cease to exist or would be with Yrsarald forever whenever he died. Those were the only two acceptable options.

I felt warm, large hands cup my face and I was urged to look Yrsarald in his eyes. "Do not think about that, honeybee." He gave me a quick, soft kiss before placing the box on my lap.

I whimpered, but tried my best to put the future out of my mind. "What is this?" I asked, indicating the box.

"This… was going to be your birthday gift. I thought, though, after yesterday…." Yrsarald's words trailed off and I felt his fingers play with tresses of my hair. "I just couldn't wait, and I thought we could both use something nice, you know?"

I fought off my impending tears and turned to the wooden box. The top slid open, held by grooves on the inside walls. The box contained a book and something wrapped in cloth. I set aside the cloth-wrapped object and examined the book first, because I had a feeling Yrsarald would have written an inscription inside. The binding was simple red leather with no gold inlay or embossing of any kind. I opened the cover to find a blank first page but, as expected, a note was written on the inside cover.

I read the note aloud. "'To the woman from another world: write down your story.'" I looked up to find Yrsarald blushing. "My story?" I asked him.

"Yes. How you came here, and why. I made this note months ago. I hid it from you." He smiled, but the smile quickly vanished. "Now it seems you will have a longer story." He ran his fingers down the blank first page. "I should have bought two."

I took Yrsarald's hand in mine and squeezed, and then leaned forward to give him a big kiss. "Thank you," I whispered.

Yrsarald smiled, and nodded to my side. I had forgotten about the cloth-wrapped object. I set the book aside and unveiled the second gift.

It was a ring.

I choked on my own breath when I saw it. The simple, gold circle held enough power to temporarily stop my heart. When I looked closer, I saw that it was shimmering a pale blue.

"It… it's enchanted?" I asked Yrsarald.

"It is. With magic, like the necklace that Wuunferth gave you. I had him enchant this with the same spell. I think it is supposed to act like a potion, and help restore your magic when you wear it."

"Yes, that is exactly what the spell does." I picked up the ring and watched as the infused magic danced across the soft yellow surface. The ring was large, too large for my ring finger.

Yrsarald took the ring from me and proceeded to slip it onto my left thumb. "Wuunferth said that the left hand is the most receptive to magic, and that is why mages cast spells with their right."

"Yes, that is correct." I gazed at the object on my thumb and appreciated the rich glow as it reflected the light of the oil sconces as well as the natural light coming in from the windows. "Why my thumb?"

"Hmm? Oh, I supposed that is what this ring would fit on you. It's meant to fit my finger, after all." He smiled.

"Your finger? This is your ring?"

"_Was _my ring, yes; a gift from my sister, long ago." He slipped the ring back off my thumb and tilted it so I could see the inside of the band. There was a faint, crude inscription, likely carved into the metal before the ring had been finished.

"It says 'Yrsa'," I said, turning to see the rest. "'Yrsa… bear'?" I turned to look at my partner. "It says 'Yrsa-bear'?"

The man chuckled. "It does." Yrsarald replaced the ring onto my thumb.

_Yrsa-Bear. Ursa, bear. _I stared, slack-jawed for a moment. "Then this is yours. Yrsa, I—"

"Yours, now," he cut me off with a smile, folding his fingers into mine. His other hand swept over my hair and brushed an unruly tress away from my face. "I thought, Champion of Meridia or simply a mage studying at the College, the ring would help you, and…." He cleared his throat and looked away from me; I could tell that he was attempting not to cry. Eventually he steeled himself enough look at me again. "And I thought that even in a small way, I could be with you, when you were not here with me."

I suddenly felt like my stomach had crawled up into my chest and was compressing my lungs. Tears were unavoidable as I made a sort of crying, choking sob and kissed Yrsarald with such force that we fell back onto the bed.


	5. The End of Normal

**Chapter 5 – The End of Normal**

Our embrace was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Yrsarald and I sat up, laughing. "Come in," he said as he covered himself with a bedsheet.

Jorleif stepped into the doorway; a woman was behind him. The Steward cleared his throat. "Hermir is here to take Deborah's size. For the armor."

"Armor?" I shook my head. "I do not need armor. I have robes and a cloak and fur travel clothes and leather—"

"But do they all still fit you?" the steward asked.

"I…," I turned to my wardrobe. "Maybe. I don't know."

"Galmar wants you in armor," Jorleif said. "_Real_ armor. Made out of _metal_."

I scoffed. "I cannot wear metal armor. I will not be able to move."

"You will learn," I heard a growl from the hallway. Galmar stepped into the doorway, moving between the steward and Hermir. "Trust me, Dragonborn, you will be thankful for it."

Hermir stepped further into my bedroom wielding some sort of white cloth rope that I supposed was meant to act as a measuring tape. "Oengul makes great armor, Deborah," the young, strong, and sad woman said. There were dark circles under her eyes; she had not slept well either, it seemed. "We will find something that fits you now, and again later if you change size. It will be free; Galmar is paying for it."

"And since you cannot leave for… a while," Galmar's shoulders sank a little, "you will have time to train in it."

I turned to Yrsarald, and then back to Hermir and Galmar. Groaning, I stood before Hermir. "Alright. Yes." I looked to Galmar. "I will be your shiny Dragonborn in metal armor."

. . . . . .

The funeral feast in honor of Ulfric was held at the palace, and another feast was provided for by the palace to be held in the Candlehearth inn. However, before either feast commenced, speeches were given in the courtyard in front of the palace. Helgird once again blessed the dead and dedicated the feasts to them, and then thanked the gods that the city had enough food for such feasts.

Jorleif, Galmar and Yrsarald then took opportunity of the small gathering at the palace to make some announcements. I noticed that only several Dark Elves and one High Elf was in attendance. Jorleif began by assuring the people that the marketplace would be cleaned and repaired soon, and the kiosks of the traders replaced. Any property or goods damaged by the dragon would be paid for or replaced, when possible, by the city. He then assured that the damaged building in the Grey Quarter would be repaired. Upon an elbow nudge from Yrsarald, Jorleif then added that any other buildings in the city in need of repair would also be seen to so that no further collapses would happen. I smiled, knowing full well that Yrsarald had finally convinced the steward or perhaps even Ulfric to set aside some money to go to the area in the city where most Dark Elves lived. Finally, Jorleif added that the families who lost someone in the dragon attack would receive some compensation from the palace funds.

The steward took a brief moment to let the information sink into the minds of the audience members. He then continued. "As you may well know, the title of Jarl usually passes from parent to child, sibling to sibling. Jarl Ulfric, unfortunately, had no children, and no siblings." I briefly wondered how a man with a female lover never had any children. "In the absence of an _arverrek_, and due to the current conflict with the Empire, whose Council of Elders would normally appoint a new Jarl, we had to resort to other means." The steward gave Yrsarald a quick glance. "Ulfric Stormcloak, aware of his lack of heirs, at the onset of this war worked with me in preparing for such an occasion." Yrsarald straightened his posture and took on an air of solemnity. The steward pulled out a rolled paper from under his cloak and opened it. A red wax seal had previously been broken open. "The last _ervthask_ of Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak stated that, upon his death and in the absence of any heirs, his brother-in-arms Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced would take his place as Jarl."

I gasped. Yrsarald gazed at me from across the small space; his expression was calm, and yet contrite. _He knew!_ He knew what Ulfric's decision had been and yet he had failed to tell me. He also knew that I would be surprised by the news. I wondered if he actually thought that this would be a _nice_ surprise for me, but his worried eyes told me otherwise.

The murmurs of the crowd grew louder. _Yrsarald. Yrsarald!?_ They were as stunned as I was.

I watched my partner as his werebear sense no doubt smelled the mix of emotions coming from the people around him. He appeared somewhat embarrassed; perhaps he had never been in the spotlight before, or at least not since his days in the army. This was a lot for him to handle in not even two full days. His best friend was dead, and now Yrsarald had an entire city to run. _No, not only a city, _I reminded myself,_ a war, too_. My stomach tightened into a knot in empathy for my lover, and from my own nerves.

As Yrsarald began talking to the crowd, my own thoughts drowned him out. Yrsarald was Jarl. I was Dragonborn and whatever else Meridia wanted me to be. Dragon words once again wafted through my mind, but I shook them away. I then wondered why the dragon voices came and went; I knew I would have to find out, eventually.

I wondered what all of these changes meant for me and Yrsarald. He and I had never really talked about it seriously, but we did want children someday. And, despite our relationship still being young in my opinion, I suspected the man wanted to marry me. A terrifying thought quickly shoved all others out of my mind: what if Yrsarald had to marry a Jarl's daughter, a princess, or something else that I most certainly was not?

I had missed Yrsarald's entire speech, and soon Jorleif was speaking again. He introduced Galmar, who talked about his plans to keep the fight to free Skyrim alive, and that just because Ulfric was dead did not mean that the Stormcloak army had to suddenly surrender. He declared that he would also find and kill the orc who killed Ulfric. His words were answered with cheers and applause from most people in the audience.

And then the bear-helmed soldier looked my way. I froze, worried he would draw attention to me. "As some of you witnessed yesterday in the marketplace, Deborah not only helped slay the dragon that took the lives of our citizens, she absorbed its soul." _Shit._ "We believe the orc who took Ulfric's life to not be the _only_ Dragonborn here in Skyrim. For this, we thank Talos. But, many of you did _not_ witness the birth of a Dragonborn as I and Yrsarald did. Because of this, I would now ask Deborah to demonstrate the legendary Voice of the Dragonborn – the Shout – the gift of Kyne herself."

_You goddamn bastard._ I realized my jaw was open and I quickly shut it. I could feel every pair of eyes on me; they weighed down my lungs. But there they were again, those dragon words murmuring inside my mind. I heard and understood the words. _Yol. Laas. Fus. _

_Fus. _Force.

_Yes, _I thought, _yes, Galmar, I will gladly demonstrate._ I recalled how I had last night whispered the word _laas_ several times and had witnessed it effects. I wondered what would happen if I whispered _fus._

But first, I wondered if I could breathe fire as the dragon had. Deciding it best not to test the word out on Galmar, I lifted my chin and looked at a cloud. "_Yol_," I said, somewhat loudly.

Nothing happened.

A little crestfallen, I decided to test that magic was indeed still working and shot forth a burst of fire from my palms up at the sky. I turned to the confused-looking crowd. "Just checking," I said with a brave face.

_Goddamn Galmar. _I wanted to punch the man. _Alright. They're called shouts. So, shout, damn it_. I continued to stare at the cloud and took in three long, deep breaths. After inhaling a fourth time, I screamed the same word as loudly as humanly possible.

To my surprise and shock, and likely everyone else's, a small burst of flames shot forth toward the unsuspecting cloud. I stared in awe as the ball of fire flew away, eventually fizzling out. I kept staring at the cloud I had aimed at. The white puff remained unharmed, but I had done it; I had breathed fire like a dragon and my lips were still intact. My throat hurt from the scream, however.

I lowered my gaze to Galmar; he looked utterly pleased with himself and I guessed with me, too. Everyone else appeared either ecstatic or terrified; there was no in-between. The crowd began to whisper – _Dragonborn, Dragonborn_. I supposed they were right; I was Dragonborn.

I slowly stepped toward Galmar and reached out my hand to the old soldier, offering my forearm in a gesture of solidarity. He grasped it happily. I returned his grin, but was still internally cursing the man.

_Dragonborn._

_Dragonborn._

The dragon words were no longer swimming around in my head.

. . . . . .

I was surprised at how little of an appetite I had during Ulfric's funeral feast. I nibbled on braised arctic rabbit, steamed carrots and creamy mashed potatoes, and was still forced to forego any wine due to my breastfeeding.

Yrsarald, Galmar, various soldiers and the captain of the guards sat at the head of the banquet table and became very drunk very early in the evening. I was sitting near them, and their rambunctiousness was starting to annoy me. Bird had retired with Flavia a while ago, so I decided to go upstairs and join him and his daughter in a quieter evening. Marcurio was still gone, and I knew Bird could use the company, anyway.

"Is it common for people to get very drunk at a person's funeral feast?" I asked Bird once I was settled and comfortable next to him in his bed.

"Common for many Nords, yes, particularly in the north. Ancient custom, really. I think before mead was invented, the Nord's ancestors got drunk from the _gekala _milk of a mare, and then killed and roasted a mare at the funeral feast. We are encouraged to drink and eat, be happy, to honor the dead."

"'Gekala'," I repeated the word that I figured meant "fermented". I knew that fermented horse milk, kumis, was thought to have existed as an alcoholic drink for millennia on Earth, and I knew that it was almost as potent as moonshine. I also knew, second-hand, that kumis was about as disgusting as one would expect fermented milk might be. "Were the ancestors of Nords horse… keepers?"

"_Sekmiren_? Hmm, yeah, I think so. At least some, in some parts of Skyrim. They moved around a lot, taking their half-wild horses with them, drinking their milk and blood, eating their meat, using them to drag around their stuff, probably hunting and warring on them."

"We had people like that in my world. Perhaps we still do. I'm not sure…."

"Do you miss it? Your world. No Dragonborns or dragons, I suppose."

"Yes. No." I sighed. "The grass is always more green on the other side of the fence…."

Bird chuckled. "What does that mean?"

I turned to my friend. "Truly?"

"Truly what?"

"You do not know what that means?"

Bird shook his head.

"It means, no matter where you are or what you are doing or what you have or what you look like, you will always, _always_ think that something else is better, or that you could have better, or that you could look better. Like, I will always want to be more thin and think other women have a better body than I do. I will always remember and miss the things I liked about my world that do not exist here. But when I was in my world, I always wondered if there was another, better world out there. I knew things could always be better. And, now I am in another world, and I still think that things could be better."

Bird just stared at me.

I waited for him to say something, and when he didn't, I asked, "What?"

He smiled. "Women…," he said, shaking his head.

"Women? Women what?" I asked as I playfully shoved his shoulder.

"What's that?"

"What's what?"

"This," he said, grabbing my left hand and examining my thumb.

"Oh, Yrsa's birthday gift to me."

"It is not your birthday yet."

"No, not yet."

"Is it a… special ring?" he asked with a roguish expression, complete with wagging eyebrows.

I laughed. "No, just a ring, enchanted with magic to help me." I spun it on my thumb. "It was his ring; that's why I have it on my thumb."

"I'm surprised it isn't on another finger…."

I glanced up at Bird. "Which finger?"

He held up his right hand and wriggled his own fingers, brandishing his gold wedding band on his index finger.

"We are not getting married," I declared.

"Not yet," Bird countered.

I narrowed my eyes at the man. "What do you _know_?"

Bird chuckled. "Nothing, Deb. I just know he wants to. He probably wants to now more than ever before, knowing that," his mouth twitched downward a little, "that you won't be around as much anymore."

"I won't?"

"Probably not. You'll be Dragonborning all over the country."

"Dragonborning…."

Bird nodded. "Dragonborning." He smiled. "Hmph. Dragonborn Deborah. Jarl Yrsarald."

"Jarl Yrsarald," I repeated. I sighed, and spun my thumb ring around again. "He also gave me a book."

"Which book?"

I paused for a moment before answering. "_My _book. He wants me to write down my story..."

Bird chuckled. "I guess you'll have to get better at writing our language, then," he teased.

I gave my friend a slow play-punch to the chest.

Eventually, after an hour or so of conversation and feeding Flavia one last time, Bird and I both fell asleep in his bed.

. . . . . .

"Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey…. Hey…. Hey…."

I awoke to being poked repeatedly on the sternum. Eventually it started to hurt, and my eyes reluctantly opened. I was at once face-to-face with Yrsarald; a single candle on the night table by me dimly lit his face.

"Yrsa?" I asked, quite literally needing confirmation. He stopped poking me.

"We drank 'll thuh mead," he said, and began poking my sternum again.

I grabbed his big finger and held it away from my stinging cartilage. "I can smell. What do you want? I was sleeping."

"I wan' thuh _durvah-_burn," he slurred.

"What?"

"_Durvah_-burn. I want it. Want. It." The single candle illuminated his widening smile.

"Yrsa…," I groaned his name and rubbed my eyes. "Go to bed. You're very drunk."

"Mmhmm," was all he said before scooping me up into his arms, or at least attempting to; I was caught on the bedsheet. Yrsarald seemed confused by his inability to move me away from the bed and toward the doorway.

I whisper-screamed, "Put me down!"

"No, I wlllll save you!" he whisper-declared, and kept tugging me away from the bed only to be foiled by the bedsheet repeatedly. I had to untuck the thing from my legs for him. When I was freed, Yrsarald sounded a triumphant snicker, repositioned me so that my chest hung over his shoulder, and proceeded to steal me away into the night, giggling all the way to our bedroom.

. . . . . .

"_Ugh_."

I woke up to the sound of Yrsarald groaning. He had covered his face with the bedsheet.

"Why is the sun awake already?" he whined.

I giggled relentlessly. "How much mead is needed to get a man the size of a mountain drunk?" I slid closer to my partner and moved under the bedsheet with him; it was very warm from insulating his body heat. "How is your back?" I asked softly.

Yrsarald was rubbing his forehead. "My back?"

"Yes, your back. You hurt it after you picked me up last night. I am not a little person, you know."

"Little enough. I'm just getting old."

I laughed. "You are not old. Come here…." I threw off the bedsheet and urged Yrsarald to roll over onto his stomach, which he did after a short protest and series of groans. Sitting by his side, I pressed my hands to his lower back and released a small amount of healing energy. "Maybe some injures need to be healed more than once."

Yrsarald grunted.

"Are you sure you do not want me to heal your head? I can. I have healed hangovers before."

He turned his head to the side against his pillow so he could speak. "It is not our way."

"That is what I thought you said last night. Not your way? You need to be hung-over? Why, because you are a man?" I asked, smiling.

"No, because I am a Nord, and Ulfric was a Nord." Yrsarald sighed. "Ulfric is dead. To drink to his name and then not experience the _avlethingen _after is not our way. We need to feel the pain, regret…."

I frowned. "We did not do this in Winterhold. Some people died…. We did not drink to them, not really. There were no laws for the funeral and after, I don't think." A moan of relief escaped Yrsarald's mouth once his lower back felt better. "For how long will you mourn? I mean, for how long must you not heal that pain, the pain from drinking?"

"Three days."

"Three days? But why?" I climbed on the man's massive thighs and smoothed my hands over his broad back, deciding to give him a massage. He loved my massages; of course the concept was not unknown to him and others in this world, but massages here were mainly for healing injuries or preventing them, not done simply to feel good.

"It is just our way." He groaned as my knuckles rocked and rotated up the sides of his spine from his buttocks to his neck. "Three days – well, nights – of funeral feasting and drinking." He exhaled slowly, deeply. "And then, I will be Jarl."

My hands froze momentarily. I continued the massage before speaking. "Why did you not tell me?" I asked, quietly, still sad about the temporary secret.

Yrsarald did not answer immediately. "I only found out after he died."

"But you could have told me, that night."

Again, he thought about his answer. "I didn't want you to say no."

"'No'…? Why would I say 'no'? Will I not like you being Jarl?" I swallowed the lump in my throat and asked the dreaded question. "Can we still be together when you are Jarl?"

"Hmm? Of course we can."

I breathed easier. "Then why would I say 'no'? Ulfric wanted you to replace him; I would not say no to that." Yrsarald stirred and turned onto his back beneath me. He laid his hands on my thighs and held me in place.

He looked sad. "We will both be busy, now."

"You have been busy since I have known you."

"Only because of the war." His hands moved up and down my thighs from waist to knee. "But now you will be gone. Again."

"Gone? Where will I go? To the camps?"

He sighed. "Yes, but, also… High _Hrothgar_."

"High what?"

"_Hrothgar_. A _vig_ on a mountain, far from here."

"A what? On a mountain?"

"_Vig_. Big, stone building, like a palace but bigger, stronger. The Greybeards live there. They will train you."

I stared down at Yrsarald in silence for a moment. "Like Talos?"

Yrsarald swallowed hard. "Like Talos." His hands traveled up my body to land on each side of my face and they then pulled me down, longing for a kiss. Satisfied, he let up his grip and gazed at me for a moment. He spoke softly. "You belong to the gods, now."

"No," I protested, shaking my head. "I belong to you, and to my friends, to _me_. This will not change."

"It _has_ changed," he said. "But, perhaps it was always meant to be this way, why you are here. It isn't just Meridia who wants you."

"_I_ want _you_."

Yrsarald smiled. "You already have me. But for now," his thumbs caressed my cheeks, "for now, you must go be a hero. Save the world from whatever darkness Meridia has seen while I and Galmar try to win this war."

I slid to Yrsarald's side and held him tight. "I cannot leave until Flavia no longer has need of me, or until I can no longer feed her."

"I know."

"Does Galmar truly want to show me to the troops? Like a… shiny, pretty thing?"

Yrsarald chuckled. "Yes. And you should go, when you can, before going to High Hrothgar. You may have to stay on that mountain for a long time, I don't know. Ulfric did…."

My sigh was lengthy and pronounced with a whine. "I suppose I have no choice."

"You always have a choice, Deborah, but in this case, denying the gods and what they intend for you may be the wrong choice."

I silently twirled a finger in his thick chest hair for a while. "Is everyone frightened?"

"Frightened? Of what?"

"What to do now."

"Now. Now that Ulfric is dead?"

"Yes."

"Well, some are, I suppose. We are doing our best to stay ahead of the Empire."

"Will the Empire… attack?"

"Attack!? No, no. They would not attack the city." He paused a moment. "At least we do not think they would."

"Why would they not?"

"Because the leader of the Rebellion is dead. When the Empire learns this, they will assume we will surrender. They have no reason to attack. And the city is still full of guards; we are not defenseless."

Twirl. Twirl. Running my fingers through his chest hair was like petting a dog or cat – utterly relaxing. "What is this war truly fought for by the Empire: to kill Ulfric for killing that king, or to keep Skyrim a part of the Empire?"

"Both. Ulfric was wanted for murder by Jarl Elisif of Solitude, King Torygg's wife. He would have been hunted by Imperial soldiers, war or no war. But we still desire to separate Skyrim from the Empire, for many reasons. The Empire wants this land, so the Rebellion lives."

"I suppose I should let you go to work, then." I propped myself on my elbows and kissed Yrsarald. "How is your head now? Better?"

Yrsarald smiled. "I shall live." He then pulled me back down for more cuddling. "It is early, yet. Let the men rest a while longer. I believe you wanted to talk…."

I frowned. "There are many things…."

"You should write a list."

"Hmph_._" I stared at Yrsarald's mostly-hidden tattoo. "Are you very sad?" I kissed his chest and held him tighter.

Yrsarald was silent for a moment. "Yes."

"You have lost your soldier-brother. Was he your closest friend?"

"Yes, for a long time." Yrsarald's hand smoothed down my back. "I believe I have found a new closest friend, though."

I gave a little laugh and kissed his collarbone. "I worry for you. When I go, I worry you will be lonely and still sad for Ulfric, and I won't be here to hold you."

Yrsarald cleared his throat. "I am used to being lonely."

"Oh, Yrsa…." My heart hurt for the man; I couldn't _not_ kiss him. I cupped his cheeks with my palms, and he covered my hands with his.

"It is fine, Deborah. Truly. My life has been so busy for the last thirty years."

"Thirty…. Since the Great War?"

Yrsarald nodded.

My frown deepened. "Before me, when was the last time…? You said there was someone, once."

I noticed a tiny wince before Yrsarald forced a sad smile. "That ended… I think maybe fifteen, sixteen years ago. She was a guard who later joined the Stormcloaks." His sad smile became one of contentment. "The gods helped me over the years."

"The gods? How?"

"After my sister's death, after I hid in that cave, I began to pray more. I prayed a lot, actually. I made relaxing teas that not only helped with my anger, they made me very calm. That tea I drink every morning, _canis _root tea, it helps me no longer change when…." He appeared as if he was fighting off a bought of tears. "If I did not have that tea every morning, I would have changed when Ulfric was killed." The strained look on his face calmed. "I found peace and comfort in prayer. Connecting with the earth made me very calm. Food and training also helped with…," he chuckled, "well, urges of all kinds. But then you came, and then left, and nothing helped. I became a mess."

I grinned. "I remember. When I came back, you looked… like you had lost a battle with your hair."

Yrsarald laughed. "It is true. I just...," he shook his head. "It was awful. Nothing helped. A lot of food made it somewhat better, but not truly."

"I hope it will not be the same when I leave again."

"No, it won't. This time, you know how I feel about you, and I know you will return to me. The gods will not let you die."

We kissed again, sweet and soft, save for Yrsarald's tickling beard. I caressed his stubbly cheek for a while, simply gazing upon him. I then remembered something I wanted to ask him. "So… Hermir and Ulfric?"

"Mm. Hermir and Ulfric. She adored him. He… well, he let her."

"Let her? Ulfric did not love Hermir?"

"No. I don't think Ulfric was able to love anyone, not truly."

"What do you mean, not able to love? Why not?"

Yrsarald sighed. "With everything that happened to Ulfric during the war, while he was held by the Thalmor…. He didn't speak much about it, but over the years I learned pieces of his past. They tortured him, did... things." Yrsarald squirmed. "After, Ulfric had bad dreams often, and sometimes became lost in his thoughts. Galmar one night heard screams from Ulfric's bedroom. He ran up to find Ulfric strangling a woman. She lived, but…. It was a long time before Ulfric trusted himself to take another lover. It didn't really matter, since Ulfric had trouble… you know…."

"Ohhh…. From the bad memories? The torture?"

"Yes. His body stopped working properly. Anyway… he said that Hermir was different. And, since she was so strong from working the forge, she was able to defend herself when Ulfric's mind slipped into the past and he attacked her."

"He attacked her and she stayed with him?"

Yrsarald shrugged. "Everyone is different in how they love. I think Hermir understood that it was not him, it was not Ulfric that attacked her, but the monster inside of him that his bad memories created."

I had to figure that Hermir was either brave or crazy. "What did the Thalmor do to Ulfric to make him so… well, like you said, he had a monster inside him."

"The High Elf that tortured him, Elenwen, did 'disgusting' and 'spirit down-afflicting' things to him. That is all I know."

"'Spirit down afflicting'?"

"Hmm… she tried to break Ulfric by humiliating him."

"Oh. I think I understand. From what you say, I think Ulfric had what in my world we call 'after bad things stress'." Post-traumatic stress disorder. I doubted Skyrim had counselors for such things. "I suppose he never was healed of it."

"No, I suppose not. Hermir helped, it seemed, though."

"I find it strange that I never, not once, saw Hermir or any other woman in the palace. Not with Galmar, either."

Yrsarald chuckled lightly. "You would not have seen a woman with Galmar. He has been without one for many years now, and is quite happy about it. And Hermir, when she came here, she disguised herself as a guard. She was good at not letting anyone see."

"Hmph." With the guards' helms offering full coverage of the face, it would indeed be impossible to identify someone unless they took it off, and on-duty guards always kept them on. My fingers danced in Yrsarald's chest hair for a while longer. "Still no sign of the orc?"

"No. Nothing."

"Why did he kill Ulfric?"

"We don't know."

"Do you have a guess?"

"No. The orc was in armor we did not recognize. He was not likely in the Imperial army, but his kin may be. The orc is Dragonborn, and perhaps was… I don't know, jealous of Ulfric. Threatened by him." Yrsarald sighed. "Ulfric had to have done something to the orc, the orc's family, friends… someone."

"Maybe during the Great War?"

"Perhaps. But the orc looked too young to have fought during the war. And we fought alongside the orcs…." His arm tightened around me. "That is what worries me most. There is just no reason. He was angry at you because, I suppose, he wanted the dragon's soul for himself. But then, the orc heard Ulfric's name and that is what made him explode."

My fingers grazed lightly down Yrsarald's faintly-freckled arm. "I will find out. I will find the orc, and I will find out why."

Yrsarald's muscles tightened for a moment. "Perhaps you are the only one who can stop him. Dragonborn."

"But… I am not like the orc. He is bigger than even you."

"No, but you are Dragonborn. For whatever reason, the gods made two."

"When I was brought here, Meridia said they re-made me." I wrapped Yrsarald's arm around me. "They re-made me as a Child of Akatosh. Savos Aren, the Arch-Mage, says I was born to be a mage."

"More than a mage. You were brought here to be Dragonborn. Perhaps… perhaps brought here to find that orc."

"I _will_ find him."

"You need to learn how to be Dragonborn, first."

"Learn how? How do I learn how? I already am."

"The Greybeards will make you better, stronger. Do not go looking for the orc until you train with them. Do you remember the earth-shake? The orc may have already trained with the Greybeards…. They must have been calling him, all those months ago. I cannot think of what would happen if you found that orc before," he sighed, "before at least training a little."

I felt his muscles tense again. I turned on my side and stretched out my arm over his torso and held him tight. "Do not think about that. I am still here. I will be here for as long as I have to be for Flavia. For you, and for me." I began to fight off tears. "I don't want to go, but, I will, when I can." The threat of tears faded and I continued. "Did Wuunferth tell you about Meridia's light?"

"No. Was he supposed to?"

"No. I… found a special rock in the Butcher's house, the day the dragon came. Before the dragon attacked, I picked up the rock from a box in the house and had visions. Meridia sent me the visions. I saw soldiers fighting inside her temple. Wuunferth helped me understand. The temple is in… I think he said 'Haafingar'."

"It is."

"There is something evil there, and Meridia wants me to find it. Or fight it. Stop it. Wuunferth says I should pray to her to find answers from her, but I haven't yet."

"So, it is starting."

"It is." We lay together in silence again for a short while, but questions were still nagging at my brain. "Yrsa, why did you not tell me about the dream?"

"Which dream?"

"The one with Ulfric and the glowing circle."

He tensed again. "You read my dream journal?"

"Yes, but only because it fell from your night table the morning after Ulfric died. It fell open to that page. You dreamt it after he died, didn't you?"

Yrsarald was silent for a moment, but eventually answered. "Yes. My dreams always feel real, like I am truly there in the dream place, but this one… this one was the most real."

"The place is called Saarthal."

"Saarthal? Wait, the—isn't that where you were? I heard Wuunferth and Ulfric discuss it once."

"Yes, I was there, and I saw the circle. I heard the sound it made, too. Something _was_ missing. A friend of mine, Elodie, survived an attack there. Whoever killed our friends, and her wife, stole something. Last I heard no one knew what was taken, but Wuunferth says it is Mage Council business and I do not need to worry about it."

"Then he is likely right."

I sighed. "Do you think Ulfric showed you the dream?"

"Yes," he answered immediately.

I then heard the sound of something scratching against wood. I pushed myself up on my arms to look to my right, toward Yrsarald's wardrobe and dresser. "Did you hear that?" I turned to Yrsarald, and then back to the wardrobe. I sat up in the bed and immediately cast the spell I had learned to detect life. My hand lit up with an orb of purple magic.

"What's that?" Yrsarald asked.

"Life detection."

"Why?"

"People can be invisible." Yrsarald waited in silence. A moment later, I stopped casting the spell. "There is no one here." Unsatisfied, I cast the spell I had learned to detect the dead or undead. My right hand again glowed from the blue light of the spell. There was nothing by the wardrobe or the dresser. I kept casting the spell and looked around the room.

When I turned around, I screamed.


	6. The Other Side

_**AN**__: Happy New Year, dear readers! I hope you all had a wonderful holiday season full of your favorite holiday things! NOW GET BACK TO WORK. Heh. I myself have been trying to be a good grad student and working more, and while I know you guys crave faster updates, once-a-week posts have been allowing me to take care of the, well, "real" parts of my life. I have five more chapters already written, which is really good because this also means I can go back and polish the chapters before they're posted. _

_Replies to comments: __**Rakaan**__, Thanks! I'm so glad I've got you hooked! __**Julie5, **__absolutely. Maybe this fear will come in handy? __**Beawr**__, I don't know if Yrsarald is physically capable of breaking up with Deb! Well, unless she was completely awful to him. He'd have enough self-respect to leave her if that were the case. __**Birgittesilverbow**__, you'll have a ways to wait for the ultimate DB showdown, I'm afraid. __**Ishkahrhil**__, I didn't want to kill sweet lil Sophie, but you know, shit happens, and both Sofie and Silda were homeless. On the street with nowhere particular to go, higher chance of being caught in dragonfire raining from the sky. _

_That said, I bet none of you guessed this right! Hehehe…._

* * *

**Chapter 6 – The Other Side**

"What? What do you see?" Yrsarald moved instinctively in front of me; I was admittedly terrified, and let him protect me.

The blue shimmering fog floating to the side of our bed became dense and took the form of a human. The result of the spell was visible only to the caster, and only momentarily. I cast the spell again, and again the blue fog took form. I felt my heart beating fast and hard to match the pace of my breath, my blood pressure likely peaking from the panic that was spreading through my body.

"Deborah…," Yrsarald whispered. "What is it? I see nothing."

I didn't answer; I couldn't – my breathing was too rapid. But I did find the strength to whisper a single world. "_Laas_." The figure turned a shimmering, foggy red. The simple dragon word required no energy to voice, whereas the detection magic was incredibly draining; I knew that I would be uttering this little whisper-word often in the future. The fog then dissipated and did not take form again. Whatever had been detected was now gone.

Instinctively or perhaps a reaction from years of training, Yrsarald wasted no more time in pulling on some trousers and reaching for the large axe he kept above the dresser. I, however, remained paralyzed and naked on the bed, wondering where the shape I had seen had gone.

"Deborah!" Yrsarald demanded my attention, or perhaps answers.

"It is gone," I said, beginning to calm down.

"What was it?"

I took a deep breath. "I don't know."

"You whispered a word. Was it a Shout?"

"Yes." I turned to Yrsarald. "It shows me alive things… and, I suppose, dead things. Tell me if you see…." I whispered the dragon word again. Yrsarald's form immediately glowed bright red, as did mine. "Do you see?"

"No. What should I see?"

I sighed. "Life. You should see life…."

A furious knock sounded at the door. "Yrsarald, Deborah, is everything alright?" I supposed it was a guard, but I didn't recognize the voice.

"Yes, thank you!" I replied quickly and loudly, praying the guard didn't come in uninvited with me still stark naked on the bed. I quickly slid to my feet and threw on my dressing robe.

Yrsarald turned to me again. "What were the spells you cast?" he asked.

"Life. Death. Both work like the word I whispered. The 'shout'. But only I see…."

"And what did you see?

"A person. A ghost, maybe."

"Ghost?" Yrsarald stared a moment before replacing he axe on the wall. He then pulled on a tunic and removed his trousers in order to slip on a loincloth first.

I sat on the bed, truly hoping I was wrong. Yrsarald finished dressing and walked over to me. His hand smoothed down my mussed hair before he gave me a kiss. "You're alright?"

I nodded.

"Good." He kissed me again. "Come down, soon. You should be with me and Jorleif as we work…." He smiled and turned to go, but stopped only a step away from me.

"Yrsa?"

Silence.

I stood from the bed and ran my hand down his clothed back, half-hugging him as I moved to his side to see what had stopped him in his tracks. When I saw it, I halted too.

The form before us was wavering – unstable and translucent, but it was there, this time not as a red fog. I took a step in front of Yrsarald.

"Deborah…," he tried to hold me back.

"It is fine, Yrsa."

The form steadily became more and more solid. Leather armor. Long, dark-brown hair. Green eyes. Thin, toned body. Slightly curved hips.

. . . . . .

"_That's a troll den. Vicious creatures. Garthek pays his men to bring him their heads and other parts. Men pride themselves on hunting and killing them, keep their skulls as trophies. You know, I never really figured out why. Their skulls are big and useless, but I think men believe it impresses women, or something. But there's some alchemic use for their… uh… genitals. Just the males, obviously. But also their fat, the fat from any troll. Not only great for candles, but Virelle uses them for some potion. Dunno what, though. I never did get the hang of that alchemy crap. Garthek is convinced, though, that ingesting dried troll cock makes him, uh… well, fuck like a troll, I guess. But really he kinda fucks like a horker. You're so fucking lucky Thrynn claimed you, ugh…. Why are you picking up that dead man's skull? Divines above, you're weird…... Oh, shit. Those idiots are watching us. Figures. I bet they think we're gonna fuck in this troll den. I hate men, sometimes."_

. . . . . .

I nearly choked on my own breath, and barely managed the whisper. "Siv?"

"Ah, Thrynn's woman!" the form spoke.

"It _is _you…." I stepped closer to Siv's apparition.

"You have learned our language, finally." Siv smiled. I stood close enough to touch her, but I didn't dare.

"Who is this?" Yrsarald stepped up to my side. "Who is Thrynn?"

"Oh, Sweet Mother, look at this one…." Siv's apparition faltered a little, but solidified again. "He's a big _butti_ of juicy meat, isn't he…."

"Siv!"

"What?" she shrugged. "I'm a ghost, not _dead_."

"Siv…," I was at a loss for words. "How…?"

"How are you seeing me?" she asked. "Good question." She began to float-walk around the room, slowly, as if giving herself a tour. "One moment I was wasting away my afterlife in a foggy, grey nothing-land, bored to tears unless I was running away from some smelly monster thing with glowing eyes, or other outlaws or crazy rapists or murderers, and the next moment I was back in Skyrim, but, a ghost." She turned back to me. "I had returned to that road in The Pale, where I died." She float-stepped up to me. "Died saving _you._"

"What?" I heard Yrsarald ask.

"Siv, I—"

"Listen! Something is not right. I was not where I was supposed to have been when I died, and I should not be here, now. I don't want to be a ghost, Deborah. _Hja_—" Siv's apparition disappeared before she had a chance to finish whatever she was going to say.

'_Hja—'? _I thought to myself_. 'Hjalp'? Help her? _It made more sense than _hjalm_, "helm", or any other similar-starting Norren word I knew.

Several moments passed before anyone said anything.

"What the fuck was that!?" Yrsarald broke the silence with a frantic yell.

I was taken aback, unsure if I had ever heard him use such strong language before. He even appeared angry, face flushed. "That was Siv, a friend. Sort of." I was somewhat in shock. "I cannot believe ghosts exist…."

"Sort of? Who is Thrynn!?"

"Calm down, Yrsa."

"Calm…. Calm!? A ghost just now appeared before both of us calling you someone else's woman and asking you to help her and I am supposed to remain calm!?" The laugh that escaped his lungs was not one of amusement.

"I am _not _Thrynn's woman," I spat back at my partner. "I was _never _his. He saved my life when I came to this world and that is all. I then saved his life. I learned this language from him before he _left_ me, pregnant, just before I was taken to Helgen!"

Yrsarald stood frozen, silent, and then his shoulders sank. "Pregnant?"

I groaned and fell back onto the bed. "Yes. Thrynn made me pregnant. But that did _not_ make me _his_. We just…. It was a long, cold winter in a cabin in nowhere. I had no place to go except the college, but I did not know the language, so, I stayed with him until spring. Then, he was just gone."

"He left you pregnant?"

"Don't worry; the gods took the baby away. Meridia told me. They knew I did not want his baby."

I felt Yrsarald sit down on the bed and heard him sigh. He was quiet for a while after that. He then lay next to me and propped himself up on an elbow. His hand caressed my cheek and urged me to look at him. "Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"Siv. Thrynn. All of it. You told me you were held by outlaws. These were them? But then they saved your life? Why would her ghost appear to you?"

I frowned. I didn't want to tell the tale yet again, but I knew Yrsarald should know everything about me, if he so desired. Even Wuunferth knew more than Yrsarald did regarding my past with the outlaws. I looked my partner in the eyes, and began.

"The cave I fell into from my world was an outlaw hideout. Their leader wanted to kill me, but I later learned that Thrynn saved me. Meridia said that Dibella had whispered to him, I think…. Anyway, he saved me, kept me as safe as he could. I should have trusted him, but…. I thought I was still in my world, and that those people were… strange. I didn't trust any of them. Meridia later told me that Thrynn misheard my name as Dibella, and when he was confused and terrified because he thought he had captured a goddess, I ran. I should not have run; I knew this, but I did it anyway. I ran into a troll and it almost killed me. It broke one of my ribs, and then the outlaws killed it. But the outlaws were not trying to save me…. They like trolls. Or, like killing them. I don't know. That is when one of the bad outlaws, not Thrynn or his friends, raped me."

Yrsarald jolted up in bed as if electrocuted, his face immediately turning red with rage. "_Raped_ you!?"

I gently laid my palm against his chest, willing him to calm down. My hand slid behind his head and my fingers clutched onto his long hair. "I lived, Yrsa. I am fine. It happened, but for only a moment. Soon after the man entered me, I… felt lightning inside my body, and then, the first time ever, cast lightning magic at the men who had held my arms. I think I killed them, but I am not certain. I didn't know what happened to me, didn't know that it was magic. Thrynn was the one who first told me to go to the college." I frowned, remembering the day Thrynn rebelled. I lay back down, and Yrsarald followed. "A while after I was raped, things were alright, because Thrynn and his friends protected me. But, one day, we went north. I realized that those people truly were outlaws who killed for money. But, that day, Thrynn and his friends refused to murder women and children for the outlaw leader. They fought each other. I think I would have died, but Siv took an axe in the back for me, and I would have been…," I cringed at the all-too-vivid memory. "The leader and his friend, they kicked me. I was broken. The leader put his sword…," I reached my hand down, remembering where the scars had been before being healed away, "his sword cut me, up my legs. I thought he would have… I thought he might…." I shook my head. "But Thrynn killed him. Killed him before he could hurt me more. After, he put me on a horse and we rode fast to nowhere. Somewhere snowy, west of the river that goes to here from the south. We stayed in a cabin until spring, when he left. Yes, Thrynn and I had sex. Not very many times, but..." I sighed. "And that is all. I left the cabin, too, and then the Imperials got me. I don't know who or what they thought I was because I could not understand them and they told Ralof nothing, but they were following Ulfric and Ralof, and I found the Imperials. They didn't like that…. So I was taken to Helgen with Ulfric, Ralof and the others. And then I stayed with Ralof and his family for three months. And then I came here."

"You…," Yrsarald began, tentative with his words, "you have been through a lot. Much more than I knew."

"I am sorry I didn't tell you everything, but… it did not feel necessary. Now, though…," I turned to my side and smiled down at my man, "I want you to know all. My past is not a secret, not from you. Soon everyone will know me…. I want _you_ to know the _real_ me." I leaned forward to give him a quick kiss. "If I am Dragonborn, if I am Meridia's champion, then as you say, I belong to the gods. But not all of me – just my actions." A rogue tear escaped each of my eyes and Yrsarald quickly kissed them away. His lips were soon pressed against mine. I felt wetness on my cheek and realized he too was crying.

We then lay there together, entwined for a long time, simply listening to one another breathe. I thought I dozed off for a short while, prompted by his warmth and his steady heartbeat. When our mutual cuddle quota had been filled, I began to dress for the day.

"We should tell Wuunferth that we saw a ghost." I tied my college robe around me. "It might be important. Or… are ghosts a normal thing here?"

Yrsarald shook his head. "No, it is not normal to see a ghost. I had never seen one before. You can talk to Wuunferth," he said. "I have to go see Jorleif, and I think Galmar wanted to leave for the camps this morning."

"Do you not think you should hear what Wuunferth says?"

"You can tell me, later."

I let out a sigh.

"What?"

I walked up to my partner and wrapped my arms around his neck. "Will things be very different now that you are Jarl? I suppose you will be very busy."

"I will, but… you will be busier."

I failed to hide my frown.

. . . . . .

I was calmed by Wuunferth's unwavering neutral expression. "You are not surprised…."

"No, Deborah. I have been seeing ghosts for months."

"Months? Who have you seen?"

"Family, ancestors…. And, yes, I believe something is happening that is allowing ghosts to appear. It is not unheard of – ghosts appearing – but it is unusual. I have also noticed an increase in the power of my spells and enchantments. Have you not noticed the same?"

"No…? I thought I was just getting better…. Or perhaps the necklace you gave me made it stronger. You think something is being done? What?"

"I don't know. Necromancy, or…," he shook his head. "I don't know, but stronger magic suggests a stronger link to Aetherius, whatever that means…."

I bit my lip. "Perhaps now is a good time to pray to Meridia."

"Yes, I believe it may be."

I returned to my room and opened the cloth pouch in which I had placed Meridia's rock. I stared at the opaque, edged surface for a moment, wondering if I would be given visions again. Instead of reaching in and pulling out the rock, I deposited it on the center of the bed. I sat cross-legged in front of it, staring down at it, wondering how to proceed.

I figured I'd try various things until it worked. I held my palms on either side of the rock, several inches away, and stared. "Meridia?" I called. Nothing happened. I sighed, and decided perhaps really getting into it and meditating might help.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and pressed my fingers to the stone.

"_Finally, my Champion realizes her fate."_

"What?" The voice had come from inside my head, or at least I thought it did. The voice was strong and feminine, and spoke English. The stone, once cold and opaque, had become warm and translucent. Waves of shadow and light swirled within it.

"_I trust you received the visions I sent you."_

_Yes,_ I thought, figuring she could hear my inner voice.

"_No, keep speaking the language of the Nords; it is good for you, _and I shall do the same." She switched to Norren mid-sentence.

"Oh, alright. I… ehh… can others hear you?"

"No, Champion, only you. With my Light, we will be able to communicate when necessary. But for now, listen and listen well. As you have realized, the visions were of my temple. For a long time, too long, a powerful necromancer who calls himself Malkoran has been luring men and women from opposing armies into my temple where they slaughter one another. Malkoran then uses their angry souls to build his army of ghosts. You, my Champion, must go there and put an end to the _krofton _that has invaded my temple before Malkoran destroys my _heila_ _tholet _with his dark magic. Do this, and restore my temple to its _fyra moro._"

"Ehh… I did not understand the last things you said. Evil invaded your temple? What is Malkoran destroying? What is 'fyra moro'?"

Meridia was silent for a moment and I thought she had left, but her voice returned to my head. "_Corruption_," she said in English. "_Corruption has invaded my temple. Malkoran is using my artifact to increase his power over the souls of the dead. Once he and his army of ghosts are vanquished, only then can my temple once again house those who wish to worship me._"

"Oh. And… how am I to fight this evil?" I continued speaking to Meridia, or, rather, the rock in my hands, in Norren as she had suggested. "I am not powerful."

"But you will be! You are Dragonborn, blessed by Akatosh himself. It is necessary for you to go to High Hrothgar, to train as Dragonborn. Only then will you be able to do what you were brought here to do."

"And after I… clean your temple, then what? What else do you and the gods need from me?"

"You will save the world, Champion. You will know what that means when the time comes."

I sighed. "Do ghosts have something to do with saving the world? What about Saarthal?"

"Yes, Champion. Something is breaking the walls between worlds. You experienced this the last time we spoke. I did not risk communicating with you that way again for your own safety. You must stay away from Hermaeus Mora. He will lead to nothing but destruction."

I shivered at the memory of my first and only interaction with the tentacled Daedra. "So, I truly am Dragonborn, then…."

"Yes, Champion."

"And the orc? He is Dragonborn as well?"

"Yes. Torug was fated to be Dragonborn before he was born. You, however… in you we saw a hope that was lost in Torug long before the portals began to open. Torug himself has long been _kroft_; we fear what he may do with the power Akatosh has given him."

"Torug…." The name of Ulfric's murderer was at once seared into my brain. "Why does Akatosh not take back the power that he gave to Torug?"

"As I have said before – even Akatosh is not all-powerful. But even _kroft, _Torug has things he alone must do; tasks he was _born_ to do. His end will come, when it is time."

"Where is he now, the orc?"

"Do _not_ go looking for him, Champion. He will destroy you and anyone with you before you raise a finger. You will have your revenge, in time. First, you must train."

I nearly growled in disappointment. "How soon must I leave here? Go to High Hrothgar? I have a baby to feed."

"Soon, Champion, soon. For now, you must prepare your mind as well as your body. Be ready."

"Alright…."

Silence. Meridia was gone. I thought about what she had said, that I had to prepare my mind as well as my body; that I had to train. I supposed this meant I needed to stop being scared shitless, and that I had to lose the weight I had regained during my pregnancy and get in shape. I also wondered if now would be a good time to learn how to conjure—

"_Woah_..." A surge of heat and fullness pulsed through my body, causing a sudden wave of pleasure as if someone had just cracked every vertebra my back. The sensation wasn't exactly orgasmic, but it was close. It was an endorphin rush. I felt a little dizzy, and then the sensation faded as quickly as it had set in. I then felt incredibly hungry.

I gently placed Meridia's Light into its sack and then trotted down to the kitchen to grab something to eat.

. . . . . .

"I spoke with Meridia," I said to Wuunferth and Yrsarald later that day in my room where I had asked them both to meet me.

"You did?" Wuunferth asked. "What did she tell you?"

"She said… that I need to go to her temple to fight a necromancer named," I bit my lip, trying to remember, "Malkoran. He… made unclean her temple, and he is using Meridia's power to make his magic more powerful. He is capturing ghosts for his army."

"Army!?" Yrsarald was surprised by the concept, or perhaps terrified.

I nodded. "But she wants me to go to High Hrothgar first. I am not powerful enough yet."

Wuunferth walked up to me, a curious look on his face. "Did you say 'Malkoran'?" One of his bushy eyebrows arched, as if he suspected I was lying.

"Yes. That is the name Meridia gave to the necromancer."

The old mage shook his head, and then walked out of my room. I stared at the empty, open doorway. "Why did he leave?" I turned to Yrsarald. "Who is Malkoran?"

My partner shrugged. "I don't know. What else did Meridia tell you?"

"That… I and the orc are Dragonborn. The orc's name is Torug. She said he is…," I sighed, having trouble remembering the words, "corrupt. She said he will be stopped, but not now. I cannot. He is too powerful, she said. And he has things he must do."

"Did she say where he was?" Yrsarald asked. "Why he killed Ulfric?"

"No. She said to not look for him. He will kill us, if we do. Maybe she knows there will be a time when he is weak…." I frowned. "I did not ask about Ulfric."

Yrsarald sighed, and then wrapped his arms around me.

"She also said," I continued, still enveloped by my partner's lumberjack arms, "that the ghosts are… connected to something that is happening between worlds. The walls are breaking, I think she said."

"So that is why Ulfric has been in my dreams."

I nodded. "I think so, yes. And Siv's ghost, here. Ulfric must be a ghost, too." A thought hit me, then. "Maybe it was Ulfric who made me notice your journal, Yrsa. He wanted me to know. There is something about Saarthal, or… or about what was taken from there. What Elodie was told to find."

"Elodie?" Yrsarald asked. "Your friend from the College?"

"Yes. She survived and was…," I sighed, irritated at my tendency to forget Norren words when stressed. "She was upset. She saw something. Marc said she has been working with Savos Aren and the Mage's Council as well as some people called the Psijics."

"Psijics?" Yrsarald asked.

"Psijics," I confirmed. "Elodie would not talk about it, and Wuunferth says it is not our business."

Yrsarald scratched his scruffy cheek. "And all of this has to do with Saarthal?"

"What was taken from there, yes, I think so."

"And Ulfric knows something…." Yrsarald was deep in thought, then, I noticed. A moment later, he admitted to himself, "Ulfric is a ghost."

"Ulfric's ghost knows something about Saarthal," I concluded.

Yrsarald looked to me, frowning deeply. "We need to speak with Ulfric's ghost."


	7. In Between

**_AN:_**_ You lucky ducklings are getting this chapter a bit earlier than I usually post it, as I'm going to be busy this Sunday. _

_As always, thanks for reading, and let me know what you think about the story thus far!_

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**Chapter 7 – In Between**

I stared at the tiny black glass vial that Wuunferth had set in front of me. "Like the portal potion?" I asked.

"Yes, exactly like the portal potion," Wuunferth answered.

"How does it work? The portal potion did not work…. Or, well, there was no portal anymore…."

"Whoever drinks the potion can see into the in-between. That is where the ghosts are. The portal potion is an old mixture that Savos discovered during the Third Era. It allowed the drinker to see links, or portals, to Oblivion and other worlds."

"Are ghosts from Oblivion?" I asked.

"They can be. Aetherius, too. They can also be here, in Mundus, but… not. In all cases, when a ghost appears to the living, they are appearing from the in-between. Ghost can either be stuck in the in-between, or merely sending their energy there for a short time. It takes a lot of energy for a ghost to be seen by the living. This potion allows the living to see into the in-between. Much easier for everyone."

"So," Yrsarald pondered, "Ulfric may not truly be a ghost, but, trying to communicate from Aetherius? Sovngarde?"

Wuunferth nodded. "Indeed, he could be."

I picked up the vial and stared at the label. The letters or symbols were unfamiliar to me. Wuunferth had said that the script was old, and used by mages only, but not so much anymore. I set the vial back onto the table. "I cannot drink a potion. What I drink and eat goes to the baby."

"I'll drink it," Yrsarald said, reaching over my shoulder to grab the vial. "How long does it last?"

"One sip will last a long time," Wuunferth answered. "Use it _sparlegaar_."

Yrsarald studied at the vial. "And we can then speak with ghosts?"

"Yes," the old mage answered.

"And see them well," I added, "unlike the magic that makes them like a fog?"

"Indeed." Wuunferth nodded.

"What is in the potion?" Yrsarald asked.

"_Sotath _oil, dried _ytraltefn_, bone _mjol_, and dried Nirn_-_root."

I looked at Yrsarald. "You understand those words?"

"Hmph, no, not all of them." He looked to the old mage. "Will it do anything bad to me? Make me ill?"

"It will likely make you feel weak, but not ill. Remember – a small sip is all you need, and the effect will last for quite a while."

Yrsarald appeared satisfied. He desperately wanted to see his friend again, and perhaps obtain closure to and answers about the Jarl's abrupt end, as well as find out what his dream about Saarthal meant. "Wuunferth," I turned to the old mage, "who is Malkoran to you? Do you know him?"

My mentor sighed. "His name, as well as others – Calixto, Orthorn… came up at the Mage's Council meeting. Malkoran was a mage studying at the College when Calixto was there. Malkoran was removed from the College when it was realized he was practicing necromancy – there is a difference between conjuration magic and what he was doing…." Wuunferth sighed again. "Calixto left sometime after. Others, too. And then Orthorn left without even informing Mirabelle. He stole some books from the library there…. Soon after that is when Nordic ruins began to be invaded and the historians studying them attacked and killed."

"Ruins? Like Saarthal?" I asked. "More than one?"

"Yes. Five, in fact. Saarthal was the last – that we know about, anyway."

"Why did you not tell me?"

"You did not need to know, Deborah," was Wuunferth's answer.

I glared at my mentor. "Were things also stolen from the other ruins? Was Meridia's Light one of them? How did Calixto get it?"

"I do not know about the other ruins," he answered plainly, "but, no, Meridia's Light was not one of them. That is something different. For whatever reason, Malkoran may have taken it from her temple and given it to Calixto. Perhaps the Light can be used to aid in necromancy…."

I shook my head. "I think it is meant to be used _against _necromancy," I suggested.

"Hmm, more than likely," Wuunferth agreed. "It is also possible that Calixto had the Light simply because it was a Daedric artifact."

I nodded. It made sense; the man's house was filled with such things. At that moment I again felt a surge of energy flow within me. "Wuunferth, I keep feeling this… warmth. A good feeling. It happened after I spoke with Meridia, and again just now. It makes me feel good, and then dizzy, and then hungry. What is that?"

Wuunferth shook his head. "I have absolutely no idea, my dear."

I sighed, and Yrsarald and I turned to leave.

"Oh, Yrsarald…," Wuunferth called, standing and walking up to us.

"Hmm?"

Wuunferth placed his palm on Yrsarald's shoulder "Next time you feel the urge to shift…," my breath caught at the word "shift" – _Wuunferth knows!, _"you may want to keep your voice down." The old mage gave my partner a friendly, knowing wink. "Not to worry. I just mentioned _agalaar_ to a guard that Deborah must have accidentally conjured a bear's spirit again." Wuunferth chuckled, and walked over to his alchemy table.

I turned to Yrsarald. He did not look surprised or worried, but rather amused. I smirked at my partner, and then turned to Wuunferth. "Is it truly possible to conjure animal spirits?" I asked him. "I only know one conjuration spell, and it is to _banish_ daedra."

Wuunferth raised his right hand and instantly a swirling, dense purple-blue form appeared at his feet. Quickly, the form took on the shape of a crab the size of a small dog.

"Oh, gods damn it, Wuunferth," Yrsarald spat as he staggered away from the spirit crab and pressed his back firmly against the wall. "You know I hate _ramiken._"

The old mage was nearly in hysterics.

The giant crab began to skitter around the room.

Yrsarald promptly left.

. . . . . .

"And, so, we've been attempting to forge weapons out of that dragon's bones. Oengul thinks he can do it… but I'm not sure. He's making me write to other blacksmiths to see if they know how; if they're willing to trade knowledge for _birg_."

I listened involuntarily to Hermir relate her goings-on at the blacksmith in town as she helped me into the used "light" steel armor Oengul had found for me.

After a while of fussing over leather straps and making sure the back and chestplate fit, I began to get restless. "I cannot breathe in this," I whined.

"Nords are born wearing steel," the young blacksmith apprentice declared.

I groaned. "Then why do the Stormcloaks wear cloth and leather?"

Hermir stared up at me, expressionless as she fastened my leg plates. "The Stormcloaks wear ring-armor under the leather."

_Ring armor. Chain mail. _I sighed.

"You will grow the muscle," she assured me.

"I will grow muscle from training with a sword, but I do not understand the reason for metal armor. I have been training; I will fit in my old leather armor… eventually."

"This is more _vithganta_ for a Dragonborn. Ulfric—" The woman swallowed a sob. "Ulfric had mentioned…," she cleared her throat, "that perhaps you would one day travel to the camps, enchant the soldiers' weapons, heal the injured…. He thought it best for someone like you to wear heavy armor, even more protective than the Stormcloak uniform."

I elected not to ask if Hermir was alright; she most certainly wasn't after thinking about her dead lover. I moved on to another comment she had made. "Someone like me?"

She gazed up at me again while tucking the last leather strap on my leg plates. "Someone soft, but valuable."

I rolled my eyes and bit my lip to refrain from cursing. "And what will happen when I lose my baby-size?"

"Oengul and Wuunferth have plans." Hermir stood and checked the rest of the straps and hooks and clasps.

"Wuunferth? For something enchanted?"

"Yes. He will also enchant your sword."

"Ow!" The chestplate was pulled too tight and had squashed my engorged breasts. I grumbled incoherent sounds for a moment. "This is impossible."

"You should not have become pregnant," she said, ignoring my discomfort. I scowled at Hermir, narrowing my eyes in a visual hiss; she didn't notice. "Alright. Move. Walk," she commanded.

The movement was awful. Arduous, slow, and unstable. "I lose all movement skill in this."

"You will get better."

"There must be something less heavy that I can wear."

"There is. That is what Oengul and Wuunferth will prepare for you, later. For now, train in this. When you put on something lighter, you will feel like it is nothing." Hermir then reached behind her to the dresser where she had placed a helmet.

"Oh, no, please," I begged her.

Hermir, all business, was having none of my shit. Glaring at me once more, she held out the helmet and waited impatiently for me to take it from her.

. . . . . .

Yrsarald and I watched as guards move our belongings into the Jarl's quarters. We were standing by what was Ulfric's desk. It was bigger than Yrsarald's, and cluttered with piles of books, papers, and scrolls. Yrsarald was inheriting everything from his friend and Jarl – all except Ulfric's clothes, which didn't fit Yrsarald, and Ulfric's mattress. I demanded that the former Jarl's mattress be removed and Yrsarald's mattress be placed onto the Jarl's odd, raised, centrally-placed platform bed that sat in front of a large fireplace.

"We should help them," I said.

"It is their job," was Yrsarald's response.

Yrsarald's new house-servant, which apparently was something like a bodyguard, named Calder, would move into our old room. He wasn't replacing Galmar, necessarily, but Galmar was constantly away from the palace and Yrsarald needed a personal guard. Calder had no problem sleeping on Ulfric's used mattress. "I've slept on worse," he had said. He was about the same age as Yrsarald, I thought, and was apparently a veteran soldier. He wasn't terribly attractive in my opinion, but that was likely due to his bushy auburn muttonchops and an angry, jagged scar that ran down the right side of his face. After meeting the man I giggled internally, wondering if Yrsarald had chosen a not-quite attractive bodyguard on purpose, but he was apparently chosen from the top of the Stormcloak ranks.

Yrsarald had also promoted one of the city guards to be my personal guard. My own house-servant. Ingjard was as tall as me, but was a typical Nord woman – busty and toned, and a born warrior. Unlike some of the Nord women I'd met, however, Ingjard was painfully beautiful – I always had a thing for redheads, from any gender. I had to wonder why Yrsarald chose her specifically. When I confronted my partner about his choice, I could tell he was confused by my interrogation and I dropped the matter. She was, after all, to be _my _bodyguard, not Yrsarald's. In the end I learned that Ingjard had been hired because of her decade-plus of service as a city guard and her untried loyalty to Windhelm, the Stormcloaks, and to Talos, and for the fact that she was a strong female which Yrsarald apparently thought was better for me than a male guardian.

Ingjard was in her mid-thirties, I guessed. Her red wavy hair was quite long and she held it back with two braids starting at either temple, just as Ulfric had. She wore steel armor more elaborate than Calder's – a family heirloom, if I understood her correctly – and was apparently as good with a warhammer as she was with a sword and shield, something I witnessed firsthand after Yrsarald proposed to have her assigned to be my guard. When I watched her destroy a wooden log in the training hall with a warhammer, I felt horribly inadequate, but reminded myself that I was a mage, and also not a Nord.

The woman was terrifying, but I soon realized she was also very good company. Yrsarald said that she would be accompanying me whenever I travelled away from Windhelm, wherever, no matter what. I was a little annoyed at his insistence, but I also felt very, very safe considering Ingjard's skill and strength. I reminded myself that the very idea of traveling alone across this world gave me mini panic attacks, and eventually I gladly accepted the arrangement.

When the time came for both Calder and Ingjard to be officially accepted into the palace ranks, the ceremony was brief and to-the-point, consisting of Jorleif giving them gold bracelets and making them swear to protect us and our household with their own lives. This, I learned, included any children either of us had. This meant Flavia, as well as her parents, would be under their protection, too.

As for Yrsarald's old position as military advisor, Galmar was going to promote a veteran commander or someone proven to be a capable advisor to come to Windhelm to take on Skyrim's equivalent of a military desk job.

When all of our belongings were finally in the Jarl's bedroom, we were left alone to settle in, unpack, redecorate or whatever else we wanted to do. But Yrsarald, half-sitting on Ulfric's large, cluttered desk, just stared at the expansive room with his arms crossed over his chest.

"What's wrong?" I asked him, running my fingers delicately across his thickening beard.

The man inhaled deeply and took his time exhaling before answering. "I don't know if I can do this."

"Be Jarl?"

"Yes. Be Jarl. Sleep here."

"Well, I think it is too late, now. Unless you want to share a bed with Calder. Or sleep in Galmar's bed. I am sure he will love that." I smiled and held my breath, suppressing a chuckle. I neglected to joke about him sharing Ingjard's bed.

Yrsarald wrapped an arm around my waist, but continued to stare at the room, particularly the bed. "What if he is here, now?"

"Ulfric?"

Yrsarald nodded.

"Drink the potion and see." I watched the man, studying his expression. "You have not tried it yet. Are you scared?"

"Yes," he answered immediately.

"Scared of what? It is just Ulfric. Unless…."

"Unless?"

I moved to the front of Yrsarald, grasped his hands, and pulled him upright. I walked us both backwards toward the raised platform bed and sat down. I then realized how convenient the stepped stone platform that led up to the mattress could be for certain activities, but that kind of experimentation would have to wait. "Are you worried you will see your family? Like Wuunferth did?"

"No, I'm not worried about that. I just," he frowned, "I feel odd, knowing that ghosts could be here, watching."

"_Laas."_ I breathed out the dragon word, and then looked around the room. Only Yrsarald's form and mine were glowing and shimmering red. I turned back to my partner. "No one but us." The short-lived effect of the dragon word faded.

"Can your Shout let you see into the in-between, though?" Yrsarald asked me. "Is it the same as magic? The potion?"

"I don't know." I slid back further onto the mattress and then stood up on my knees. "Try the potion," I urged. "And then, when you are satisfied there are no ghosts here, we can enjoy our new room." I hoped that my grin was as suggestive as I'd planned it to be.

When Yrsarald's lips twitched upwards in a faint smile, I knew it had. He uncorked the tiny vial and took a tiny sip. He recorked the vial, placed it on the desk, and waited. He looked around the room.

"What do you see?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said, still looking around. A few moments later, he sighed, climbed up onto the bed, and grasped my hips. "We're alone." He smiled before leaning down and kissing me. We fell back onto the bed and the wind was nearly knocked out of me by Yrsarald's large, heavy body. Despite his almost-but-not-quite mead belly compressing my diaphragm, I loved the feeling of his weight on me.

Yrsarald shifted, and his lips found the crook of my neck while a hand slid under the front fold of my mage's robe. Through his cloth trousers I felt his desire building quickly. My fingers tugged at his tunic as if it would obey and flee off of my partner's body. I writhed beneath him, desperate to feel his hand against my skin as opposed to my chest binding. Yrsarald's heat pressed against my thigh. I gasped when his fingers found a nipple.

And then someone knocked on the bedroom door.

We were both panting. "Fuck," I whispered as soon as I caught my breath.

"Maybe they will go away," Yrsarald hoped, but slowed the grinding of his body against mine to a near halt.

The knock came again. We both voiced our frustration. Yrsarald stood above me on his knees and frowned.

"Jarl Yrsarald," an unfamiliar male voice called from beyond the door, "you're needed downstairs."

My partner slinked off the bed and straightened out his clothing. He made for the door, but I had to stop him. "Ehh, Yrsa…," I couldn't help but giggle. "You're, ehh…." I cleared my throat and motioned toward his crotch.

He looked down. "Shit," he muttered.

I giggled again. Yrsarald uttering vulgar words was a rare thing indeed.

The knock came a third time.

"I'm coming!" Yrsarald bellowed.

"Think about… war," I suggested.

"War?" he turned to me, patting down his tented trousers.

"War. Blood, death." I frowned, realizing too late that the subject of death still might have been too raw for Yrsarald. "Ehh, or, something else."

He gave a little laugh and then turned away from me to gaze randomly at a wardrobe. "_Ramiken. Ramiken…,_" he muttered several times, waiting for his arousal to wane. Before leaving, he turned back around. "I will return for you," he said with a curious smile.

I laughed and fell back onto the bed. A second later I was once again engulfed with that same pleasurable feeling I had felt several times since speaking with Meridia. It was like a warm duvet being wrapped around me, but just for a moment. I squirmed around the bed, wishing Yrsarald was still there. After a short while of enjoying the view of the Jarl's bedroom's high ceiling, I decided to commence the tedious task of unpacking. I needed to do something to burn off my pent-up energy.

The bedroom was twice as big as Yrsarald's and had twice as many things to put stuff in or on. It also boasted its own private bathing room, with a door, complete with a latrine and the very, very large tub that I was told about. Many of the bookshelves were already mostly occupied, but there was still plenty more space for my and Yrsarald's things.

Our belongings were piled up in open wooden crates near the door. From one of the crates I picked up my fur travel clothes. I smiled as I recalled the day Ralof purchased them for me, a very necessary thing for northern travel, I learned. I was about to see if the fur clothes still fit me when a knock again sounded at the door. I walked over and opened it to find Brina, a guard and my somewhat-friend.

"Yrsarald needs you downstairs," she said with a dire look on her face.

Immediately I became concerned and quickly slipped on my boots before leaving with her. We trotted down the steps to the map room, and then entered the main hall which was empty.

"Where…?" I asked.

"Outside. Come," Brina said as she headed straight for the palace doors.

Thankfully, the palace courtyard had three large stone-lined braziers that were always lit, and I didn't need my fur cloak. However, it was snowing outside and the wind was not very forgiving. I saw Yrsarald standing with his back to me in front of the far brazier, and I ran to my portable radiator. I hadn't seen what he was looking at or who he was talking to until I was at his side. Shock halted my thought processes momentarily. I stared, jaw agape at the unexpected sight.

"Stenvar?" I asked, as if it wouldn't actually be my friend.

"Hey, _e_—," his mouth moved to form what must have been the word _elska_, "sweetheart," but he stopped himself and recovered quickly. "Ehh, Deb." He brandished a sheepish smile.

I only then noticed that his Dark Elf friend, Jenassa, was with him. Her leather armor looked like it had seen better days. "Jenassa, hello," I said, and then looked around. Before us was a wooden box the size of a person that had apparently been dragged by ropes up to the palace courtyard. Stenvar's horse, a Palomino-esque mare named Honey, stood patiently at the courtyard entrance "Where is Erik?" I asked.

"Dead," she replied. "Kill by outlaws." A tiny quiver of the corner of her mouth belied her apparent lack of emotion.

"Tell her what you told me," Yrsarald commanded the pair of sellswords.

"We were travelin' northeast of Whiterun," Stenvar began, addressing me, "when we spotted somethin' strange. Three people, walkin', but… slowly. Very slowly, as if they were injured. Erik ran ahead and asked if they needed help, but they just kept walkin' as if he wasn't there. We realized somethin' wasn't right, and walked up to 'em, too. They were…." Stenvar looked like he had lost his words.

"_Gengangiren_," Jenassa interrupted. "We killed them. Put them out of their misery. We sent Erik to Jarl Balgruuf to tell him what we saw, but he never returned to us. We found out later that he was ambushed by outlaws on the way there."

"So we killed the outlaws," Stenvar continued, "and then went to see Jarl Balgruuf ourselves. He told us that this wasn't the first time he heard about _gengangiren_ in 'is Hold, recently. And then I thought about you, Deb, that you're the Champion of Meridia, and thought you'd wanna know, too."

"On our way to Windhelm," Jenassa added, "we were heading towards Kyne's _Lund_ when we again saw some outlaws. We, with the help of the Stormcloak solders there, killed them easily."

I heard a low groaning noise to my left, and everyone including me looked at the wooden coffin. "What was that?" I asked them.

"An outlaw," Jenassa answered.

Stenvar crouched down and lifted the wooden lid. I didn't know what to expect; I thought perhaps they kept the outlaw tied up in a box for whatever reason. When I peered down into the coffin-like box, I didn't see an outlaw.

I saw grey-beige flesh. I saw gaping, dark wounds encrusted with dried blood. I saw dead eyes gazing at the sky. I saw a damaged mouth, opened too far from I guessed a broken jaw, spread in a groaning snarl.

I saw a zombie.


	8. What the Sellswords Dragged In

_**AN: **__FYI, just in case some of you are wondering (and I know some of you are) this will NOT turn out like The Walking Dead or anything else like that. Anyone care to take a guess as to what exactly is happening?..._

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**Chapter 8 – What the Sellswords Dragged In**

_Six years ago…_

"What the hell is that?"

I looked up to see Sara crouching down at my side, eyes fixed on the left upper arm of the skeleton I was slowly cleaning for photographs. The full excavation would come after.

"Yeah, I saw that," I answered. I gave the left upper arm another quick brushing. There was a series of small, faint indentations near the deltoid tubercle, a possible gnaw mark. "I wasn't going to really examine it until the rest was cleaned."

"Is it from a dog?"

"Maybe. In my notes I just put 'not rodent'. I'm going to take a few macro shots when we start taking photos."

"Heh. Weird." Sara stood and walked around the unit. "Looks like he was just thrown into the ditch."

"She, I think. And, yeah. Definitely thrown."

Sara knelt down again. "Is she missing a hand?"

"Looks like it. It wasn't cut off, though. The bones may show up in the screen. The coolest bit though is all those stones that were burying her. Like a cairn, but…. I dunno, different. There were stones on her limbs."

"Her limbs?"

"Yeah. Maybe this is one of those vampires." I chuckled, not taking myself seriously.

"Was there a rock in its mouth? Stakes in its hands and feet?"

"No, nothing like that. Just the rocks on its limbs and covering the grave."

"And you have pictures of all that?"

"Of course." I shot Sara a "what, am I stupid?" look. "Alex made sketches, too."

"Did Deb tell ya my theory?" Clive asked as he approached my unit.

"_No_ I _did not_," I answered.

Clive chuckled. "Not vampire – zombie, 'cause of that bite on 'er arm."

I groaned.

"What?" Sara shook her head, her ear-length tresses fluttering in light brown waves. "Don't be daft, Clive."

Clive held up his hands, palms out. "Hey, I'm not sayin' it _was_ a zombie, but someone _thought_ she might've been."

"Ugh, stop," I pleaded.

"What?" Clive grinned. "I thought Americans were supposed t' be all about zombies. Zommmbie apocccalypssse…!"

"Just stop." I stood from my unit and headed towards the lab, otherwise known as a shed.

"Aww, runnin' off to Luke, are ya?" Clive continued to tease.

"No!" I yelled as I half-turned back to him.

I heard a scuffle behind me, and then Sara muttering, "Stupid git." Her voice faded as I walked further away. "You know all it takes is mentioning…."

. . . . . .

_Six seconds ago…_

I reeled back and kept stepping away until I was stopped by the stone-lined brazier. I soon realized I had temporarily stopped breathing, and my lungs were beginning to hyperventilate in order to catch up with my adrenal glands. My heart was pounding hard enough to hear.

_This is not happening. This is not happening. This is not happening. _Images of the undead woman, chopped up, grotesque, flitted through my mind. I saw that little girl from I guessed the "Dawn of the Dead" remake, attacking a couple in their bedroom. I saw that half-eaten crawling zombie from the pilot of "The Walking Dead". I saw that zombie in a lab coat, dragging an axe, from "Resident Evil". I recalled the zombie dreams I had had on Earth and here in Skyrim. Dreams here were infinitely more vivid – so much so that it could be argued that the dreams were actually happening. Nightmares dreamt on Earth could wake me up and steal an hour or so of sleep from the responsive anxiety. Nightmares on Nirn, well… sleeping potions were created for a reason.

For me, who suffered from ambulothanatophobia so acutely that I couldn't be around dead bodies and therefore couldn't be a forensic anthropologist, watching anything to do with zombies was a mistake. Those visuals usually became burned into my memory. And, yet, I was drawn to zombie movies. I couldn't stay away from "The Walking Dead", but I only watched six episodes. In a day.

I didn't sleep well that night.

"Deborah," I heard Yrsarald's voice call to me. A hand grasped my shoulder and another my upper arm. Yrsarald asked if I was alright, but I couldn't answer. I didn't even have it within me to nod.

"What in Oblivion is wrong with her?" I heard Jenassa ask. "I thought you said she had experience with this."

My eyes squeezed shut. I sank slowly to the cold, snowy ground with my back pressed against the stone-lined brazier. I heard myself cry out several incoherent sounds as I wrapped my arms around my tucked knees.

Yrsarald knelt in front of me and his hands cupped my knees. I heard myself whimper. I heard rustling and an agitated sigh, likely coming from Jenassa. The calming nature of Yrsarald's presence began to take effect, however, and soon my breathing slowed. I opened my eyes to see his, full of worry.

"Why did you not kill it?" I asked both Stenvar and Jenassa as I gazed upon Yrsarald, willing my heart rate to slow.

"We _did_ kill 'im," Stenvar said. "He came back."

I steeled myself, took a deep breath, and stood with Yrsarald's help. I walked back over to the open coffin and peeked at the zombie. The closer I stood, the more clearly I heard its quiet moaning. I hadn't seen it before, but there was indeed an arrow sticking out of the undead man's chest. I backed away again and closed my eyes. Yrsarald's hand found mine.

"You need to remove its head," I said, eyes still closed. "Or damage it." I gagged a little, but swallowed whatever had risen from my stomach. "Maybe burn the remains."

"Yeah, we know," Stenvar said. "Same as draugr. But… this isn't a draugr."

I opened my eyes to gaze at my friend. "Did the undead outlaw… attack you?" I asked. "Bite anyone?"

"No," Jenassa answered. "He just came back to life and started walking."

"Walking?"

"Walking," the Dark Elf confirmed. "Southwest. We followed him for a little while before we captured him. We think he was heading for a _vig_ in that direction, the same as the other _gengangiren _in Whiterun Hold."

"Why…," I shook my head, "why bring it here? Why bring it anywhere? Why not just kill it?"

"We thought you would want to see it. You are the Champion of Meridia, are you not?" Jenassa asked.

"I— yes, I am."

"And, yet, you are afraid of the undead…." Jenassa's tone held a hint of derision. She remained tight-lipped for a moment, apparently sizing me up. "Well, fear _is_ a combination of _skinun _and respect. I… supposed it can be a healthy _ethla _in a hunter."

"A hunter?" I asked.

Jenassa blinked her red-brown eyes. "You hunt the undead, correct?" She blinked again and then turned to Stenvar. "You said that she hunted the undead."

Stenvar was about to speak when I interrupted him. "Not yet," I began. "Not yet. Meridia wants me to train, first."

The Dark Elf woman laughed. "Wonderful. The Daedra are losing their minds, claiming weak children as their Champions. Train first? I thought you already attended the College. I hope you at least know how to repel the undead."

"Yes, I know that spell, but I have not yet used it."

"Well, then." Jenassa crossed her arms. "Perhaps Meridia herself wanted us to drag this creature all the way from Kyne's _Lund_. You needed a practice _gengangir_." I could tell that Jenassa was not impressed.

"I told ya it was a good idea," Stenvar said to his companion. He then turned to Yrsarald and me. "So, where do ya want me to put it?"

I turned to Yrsarald, who did not look terribly pleased with what Stenvar and Jenassa were proposing.

. . . . . .

I stood in front of a familiar prison cell beneath the palace, watching the undead man press his body against the southwest corner. He wouldn't stop attempting to move forward. Even now, the zombie wanted to head towards something east of Whiterun.

Stenvar and Jenassa stood beside me.

"Something calls to him, it seems," Jenassa said.

"We should've checked it out while we were there," Stenvar grumbled his remark.

"One cannot simply walk into a _vig, _Stenvar. We do not know what is inside."

"Since when're ya so scared of _vigen_?" Stenvar asked his companion, smirking.

"Since _gengangiren _were being pulled to one," Jenassa responded. "I bet there are necromancers…." The Dark Elf wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered.

"I don't like necromancers," I muttered, still watching the zombie. "I don't like what they do."

"Then Meridia chose well," Jenassa said.

"Hey, ehh, Deb," Stenvar walked up to me, "I'm sorry about Ulfric. We only found out yesterday while travelin' 'ere. And, well, today… about Yrsarald. He's a good man; he'll be a good Jarl."

I smiled at my friend. "Yes, he will be."

"We… also heard a rumor. About a dragon attack, here." The corner of Stenvar's mouth twitched, but I couldn't tell which emotion he was fighting. "Is it true? That you're Dragonborn?"

Jenassa's eyebrows rose at Stenvar's question; she was eagerly awaiting my answer. I turned back to Stenvar. "Yes. I took inside me a dragon's soul, and made the dragon shouts. I can breathe fire like a dragon."

"A mage Dragonborn…," was all Jenassa said in response to my revelation. "And the orc that killed Ulfric – he is Dragonborn as well?"

"Yes. Meridia said he is, but he is too powerful for me to fight right now. She wants me to go to her temple, soon, to fight away a necromancer, but, not until I go to High Hrothgar." I turned back to watch the zombie. "I need to train as Dragonborn. Train in armor. Train…."

"Meridia's temple." Jenassa became lost in her own thoughts for a moment. "Necromancers. _Gengangiren…_. I wonder if it is all related."

"And the undead woman," I added. "A necromancer here made a sewn-together woman from pieces of other women and made her live. She was killed, though. And we saw ghosts…. Ghosts. Undead. Undead ghosts…." I sighed and watched the undead outlaw relentlessly force his body against the cell wall corner. "Wuunferth says his magic strength is increasing. Maybe he is not the only one."

"Hmm, yes," Jenassa said, "the link to Aetherius is becoming stronger."

"Or the wall, weaker," Stenvar suggested.

"Yes, Stenvar," I replied. "Meridia says the walls are breaking, thinning. She did not say why. Maybe she doesn't know."

"Well, that doesn't sound good," was Stenvar's reply.

We stood in silence for a while, watching the zombie. I realized that the longer I stared at the creature, the more desensitized I became, at least for the moment. Indeed, I almost felt numb to the initial crippling fear and shock. I wondered if my anxiety had burnt itself out, and my emotions were currently on hiatus.

"I should try the spell," I announced, eventually. I centered my concentration on the zombie and raised my right hand. "Should I feel bad about this?" I asked, "making tests of spells on someone who was a person, once?"

"That person was an outlaw," Stenvar reminded me. "He was attackin' farmers, just to steal their food. If this man's soul's no longer in 'is body, he's certainly not in Sovngarde." He laughed. "If 'is soul _is _still in there… well, even better."

I frowned, but couldn't really disagree. I had no qualms about abusing the zombie; that is what concerned me more than the fact that I was going to _experiment on a_ _zombie. _I closed my eyes and recalled the magical words that I had initially learned in order to cast this spell. Speaking the words made casting easier, but it was not particularly necessary. As Colette had taught me, the spell to repel undead creatures was related to healing spells. They were both "restoration" magic. Because I had an affinity for restoration as well as destruction magic, something Savos Aren had called a good balance, learning this particular spell was not difficult. I simply had to imagine a _breneil_, or "holy fire" if I understood the compound word correctly, emerging from my body and burning the unholy. Unlike lighting a tiny candle, I learned this particular spell right away.

The magic, which resembled a white-hot flame with its wavering blues and oranges, flew from my right palm and hit the zombie. Upon contact, the creature was momentarily stunned, but then began to run around its cell as if fleeing from something. It groaned loudly, either from pain or frustration, I supposed.

"It worked," I declared, barely enthused about the result.

"Good," said Stenvar. "Looks like it does the same thing as my sword."

"Your sword?" I hadn't noticed previously. The longsword hitched to Stenvar's back was not his usual iron sword, but rather a white-shimmering, golden one. "I remember seeing that… in Winterhold."

"Mmhmm. The Jarl gave it to me after he made me Thane. And then I gave it to Jenassa," he pointed over his shoulder to her with his thumb, "but the lady couldn't wield it properly, despite it being lighter than iron."

"I am a one-handed weapon kind of woman," the Dark Elf said with a triumphant air. "I like having a shield to fall back on. Not everyone can run around all day in steel, you realize." Her fingers delicately swept across Stenvar's steel-clad shoulder. "Besides, you are very loud inside caves. I would never 'trade up', as you have suggested."

I sighed. "Galmar wants me to wear metal armor. I don't think it will happen."

The zombie stopped running around, finally. It stood in front of the cell bars, simply staring at the back wall, but was soon at it again, pressing himself against the southwest corner.

"What else can you do to the undead?" Jenassa asked me.

"Fire," I said. "Draugr could not be killed with lightning. Fire made them slow, maybe even in pain, and when they were on fire we could remove their heads."

"Fire, eh?" Stenvar scratched his scruffy chin. "Makes sense. Draugr are all dried up, no hearts beatin'. Lightning wouldn't do a damn thing, but fire would light 'em up like dry leaves." He turned to Jenassa. "You're an elf – why didn't you at least learn a few simple fire spells?"

The Dark Elf turned to Stenvar. "I can light a campfire, if that is what you mean. You have seen me do it." She was defiant. "But beyond that, you know very well where my true skill lies."

"Deb?" A familiar voice called to me from the dungeon entrance. I squealed when I saw who it was.

"Marc!" I repeated his name as I ran into his arms.

My friend's laughter was music to my ears. "I'm happy to see you, too," said Marcurio.

"When did you return? Have you seen Bird and Flavia?"

"Yes, yes. You think you're the first person I wanted to see?" Marcurio flashed me a grin and a wink, and I giggled. "I returned not long ago. Long enough to give my husband a proper greeting." His mischievous grin disappeared when he saw the undead outlaw. "What in all of Tamriel is that?" he asked as he approached the iron bars of the cell.

I had forgotten the word for zombie that Jenassa had used. "Ehh, Marcurio," I tugged at his sleeve, "this is Stenvar and Jenassa. They killed this outlaw, but the outlaw did not stay dead. What did you call it, Jenassa?"

"_Gengangir_," the Dark Elf answered_. "_It means, 'risen one', more or less."

"So, not like a draugr," Marcurio assumed.

"Not completely," Stenvar said, "unless…." The old sellsword ran a hand over his shaved scalp. "Perhaps this is how draugr look when they're still fresh."

We all turned to Stenvar, then back to the zombie, considering the possibility.

"No," Jenassa said, "draugr are _balsamert_, Stenvar. You have seen the tools they use."

"Hmm, yeah." Stenvar shrugged. "Nevermind."

"Sooo," Marcurio drew out the word and turned to me. "A lot has changed since I've been away. I heard about Ulfric on my way north, but Bird told me about the rest. Dragonborn…." My friend subtly moved his head from side to side. "I never would have thought. And, _two_ Dragonborns…."

"This is why I am here, Marc," I motioned toward the zombie. "Dragonborn or not. I know it. Meridia wants me to do something about this."

Marcurio gave a knowing smile. "From someone who hates the undead as much as Arkay, I would expect no less." My friend then turned to Stenvar and Jenassa. He approached the pair and greeted them in the customary way. "So, Stenvar," Marcurio said, squinting at the sellsword, "I have heard good things."

"'Good things', eh?" Stenvar chuckled. "That's a first."

"Will you stay in Windhelm long?" asked Marcurio.

"That's yet to be discussed with the Jarl. There's a _vig_ in Whiterun Hold this and other creatures were headed towards. We should investigate it, but Jenassa doesn't wanna go alone."

"That's probably wise," Marcurio said.

"The _vig _is in Whiterun Hold," Jenassa repeated. "We should ask Jarl Balgruuf for aid, not Jarl Yrsarald."

"Yeah, but," Stenvar turned to his companion, "we've got friends 'ere who'd be more than willin' to come with." He turned back to me. "What do ya say, feel like goin' on a real adventure?"

"Ehh, sorry," I frowned a little, though I wasn't horribly disappointed about my circumstance if I was honest with myself. "I am still breastfeeding."

"Oh, right," Stenvar replied, smiling. "How'd that go, then? Boy or girl?"

"Girl," Marcurio answered for me. "Flavia. My and Bird's daughter."

"Ahh, the friend who adopted." Stenvar had an odd smirk on his face that I ignored.

The entire time we were talking, the zombie continued to groan and attempt to walk through the wall. "Let us please leave this place," I suggested. "I can't listen to that thing anymore." I discretely pressed against my breasts with my upper arms. "I need to feed Flavia, anyway."

"Can I kill that thing, now, then?" asked a weary guard.

I stopped walking, looked to my three companions, and shrugged. None of them could give a reason why not to kill the thing, if their silence was any indication. "Unless...," I bit my lip and looked to Stenvar. "Do you want to follow it all the way to Whiterun?"

The old sellsword chuckled. "No, no. We don't need 'im." He turned to the hopeful guard. "Cut off 'is head. Burn everything."

The guard nodded, turned to the zombie, and sighed.

As we walked out of the dungeon, I addressed Stenvar and Jenassa. "If you two want to stay the night here, I'm sure it will be fine. There is probably room in the barracks, or perhaps even a guest room. I will speak to our steward."

"Thanks, Deb," I heard Stenvar say behind me, "but you don't have to. We can stay in the Candlehearth."

"It is fine. We can see tonight or tomorrow about perhaps giving you some soldiers, but I cannot speak for Yrsarald. I will suggest it, though." Out in the main hall, I turned to my friend and his companion. "Please, dine with us tonight. Except for you bringing to this place an undead thing…," I sighed, "it was nice to see you again." I approached Stenvar to give him a very brief friendly hug, clasped wrists with Jenassa, and then left with Marcurio for his bedroom.

When we were out of ear-shot from Stenvar and Jenassa, Marcurio spoke again. "So, Stenvar, hmm?"

"Yes, Marc. He and Jenassa came today with the creature."

"He's… nice."

I shot my friend a questioning look as we entered the map room.

"Yrsarald! There you are." Marcurio trotted up to my partner and grasped his forearm in greeting. "I missed you when I came in."

"Marcurio, it is good to see you."

"Listen, I'm truly sorry about Ulfric. I crossed paths with Galmar on my way north. Such a horrible way to go…." Marcurio frowned and shook his head. "I feel strange congratulating you on your new position, but, congratulations." Marcurio and Yrsarald clasped forearms again. "I know you will honor Ulfric and his memory; you will be a great Jarl."

"Thank you, Marcurio."

I turned to my partner. "Yrsa, I hope it's alright. I've asked Stenvar and Jenassa to dine here tonight, and perhaps sleep in the barracks, or one of the guest rooms if one is free. Can you speak to Jorleif?"

Yrsarald nodded, and thankfully didn't appear too put-off by the idea. "Of course."

"Thanks." I stood on my toes to give him a quick kiss.

Yrsarald smiled at me, but then looked at my chest and frowned. "You're _lekig_."

"'Lekig'?" I asked.

Yrsarald cleared his throat and nodded toward my chest. I looked down to see my recently-cleaned mage's robe soaked through with breast milk. "Gods damn it," I grumbled and stormed off upstairs to change and then nurse.

. . . . . .

"I'm sorry, Bird." I sighed and closed my dressing robe. Flavia was still crying for food. "Only two months…. This is not right. I didn't think I… _lekt_ very much just before I came here."

"Perhaps you're too stressed."

I laughed nervously. "Of course I am stressed. There is a… walking undead man in our dungeons. Well, was…."

Bird shot me a confused look, and I related to him what had happened, and that Stenvar and Jenassa had brought back the undead outlaw with them from the south.

"By the Nine…," he said, shaking his head. "First ghosts, now _gengangiren_? What is happening?"

I sunk into one of the large, comfy chairs in their room. My old room. "Meridia said there is something out there that is making ghosts possible, breaking the walls between worlds. Perhaps something is bringing back the dead. Perhaps it is the same thing." I ran my fingers along the arm of the chair. "I cast heavy magic today, and also that day I saw the ghost. I hope that is not why I leaked and became dry so quickly."

Bird was doing his best to calm his daughter. "Hmm, I don't know."

Watching the baby turn beet red from frustration and hunger was tearing my heart in two. "She needs milk."

"She can drink goat's milk for today," Bird said, "but not for too long. She's too young."

"No. She needs another woman."

. . . . . .

"We cannot spare guards, Jarl Yrsarald," said Jorleif.

"Surely we can spare one or two. This is an important matter that needs to be looked into. I will write a letter to Jarl Balgruuf telling him what we know; perhaps he too can send guards to the _vig_. These two," he indicated Stenvar and Jenassa, "can take it to him."

"You should probably bring at least one mage, maybe two," I suggested. Stenvar, Jenassa, Yrsarald, Jorleif and Marcurio all turned to me. Calder and Ingjard were not far away, surely listening in. "One to heal, and one to detect life, or the undead."

"I can do all of those things," Marcurio declared.

"Yes, but for how long until you become tired?" I asked him. "We should write to the college to see if anyone wants to help."

Marcurio shook his head. "I think you should go with me." I began to protest but he raised his hand to stop me. "Yes, I know you are breastfeeding, but you said yourself that you're already starting to dry up. Deb, you have deeper magic reserves than any mage I know. You can last longer. We are looking for a breast-feeder for Flavia, and I can help with your milk, if you still have some by the time we leave."

"What?" I asked, somewhat appalled.

He chuckled. "It is not very different from a goat, which I had the pleasure of learning how to milk while I was in Dawnstar with Bird's family years ago. I will teach you how to do it yourself, but I will be there if you need help. And, anyway, we both know I will get no joy out of touching your breasts." I heard Stenvar snicker quietly, no doubt amused by the visual. Marcurio ignored him. Yrsarald could not, and cocked an eyebrow as he stared at the sellsword, but ultimately said nothing. Stenvar quieted quickly after catching Yrsarald's glance. Marcurio grasped my hand to regain my attention. "Just think of me as providing a necessary service to the Dragonborn so that she need no longer be _enskurthur _inside palace walls."

Marcurio's expression was calm and humorless. He was serious. He was offering to milk my breasts while on the road. "Ehh, I don't know, Marc…." I turned to Yrsarald, who did not look offended. He and Marcurio had become friends, and I guessed Yrsarald understood that Marcurio was absolutely not interested in me in that way. My partner shrugged and gently smiled as if to say, "Why not?" I turned back to Marcurio. "Alright, I will go. Meridia probably wants me to go, anyway."

My friend sighed, and smiled. "Good, good. I suggest you be the one to heal when necessary, mostly because you are better at it, but also because, well," Marcurio chuckled, "you have not been practicing much, I expect."

"It is true," I replied, "I have not cast many spells, recently. But I have been exercising, a little. In armor."

"Alright, good." Marcurio stood from the banquet table. "I will go see if Bird has found someone for Flavia." Before leaving, however, he planted his hands on his hips and grinned. "_Gengangiren. Vigen_…. It's a little exciting, no?" He chuckled, and trotted to the stairwell.

I turned to the others who had been in on the conversation, and then to Yrsarald. "I hope this is alright with Galmar. I know he wanted me to go to the camps."

"No," my partner replied. "This is more important than him showing you off. We can see about that when you return. You are not yet ready to wear armor in battle, though."

"I have my mage's robe." I stood as I replied. "If I am healing, I will be away from the fighting. And, anyway, I can do _this_." I held up both hands. With my right I cast a spell called Stoneflesh which made my skin and clothes hard to the touch and more difficult for weapons and magic to penetrate. It also made my body shimmer a light turquoise. With my left, I cast and kept casting my ward spell, which not only protected me from magic but also absorbed a spell's energy to replenish my own. I stopped casting and dropped my hands to my hips. I was still shimmering. "If we will find necromancers at this _vig_, then I am prepared."


End file.
